


My heart is left so incomplete

by minzimpression



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Clint Barton's Farm, M/M, No Barton family just Clint, Slow Build, a lot of swearing, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minzimpression/pseuds/minzimpression
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if it's Bucky instead of Laura at the farm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. I had a lot Hawkeye feels while watching AoU. I still don't know how to think about this whole Barton family situation. I sure loved it that Clint was happy <3\. And I really missed Bucky during Steve's dream. It didn't really make sense without him.  
> Since I got stuck in the winterhawk fandom for quite a while I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if the team had met Bucky instead of Laura. So my imagination went wild and...here you go.
> 
>  
> 
> Officially, only Fury and Black Widow know of the Winter Soldier. Clint has never heard about that myth.

There's blood on your lies  
Disguised up and wide  
There is nowhere for you to hide  
The haunting moon is shining  
\- [ Aurora – Running With The Wolves ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxIcK8WrXo4)

**Part 0.5 – James**

Cold, cold. He feels so cold. 

But the sun is rising high, warming the soil he’s walking on, filling the leaves of the trees around him with warmth and light, making them sigh and rustle with pleasure.  
And yet.

Yet, he feels so cold. Everything hurts. His right arm, the poor excuse of his left arm. His feet hurt. (How long had he been walking?) 

Sweat is pooling at his forehead; the sun shines so bright it’s almost blinding him. 

Birds are singing their songs, accompanying him on his way with happy chirps. 

He’s shaking with cold; falling, drowning into nothingness.

He’s on top of a hill, watching downwards, breathing heavily. There is something down there. A house. A farm house. Just one house, a barn next to it, in the middle of the forest. He sure must be hallucinating because it looks warm and inviting. Nothing had ever felt warm and inviting for him. There is nothing for him here, in this world where he knows nothing. He’s just a poor, cold soul, wavering through nothingness.

He’s been walking and walking, knowing nothing; staring straight ahead. On and on and on. He will walk until he will be tired enough to sleep forever. Because why would he want to live in a world he knows nothing about? He doesn’t even know anything about himself. 

Nothing.

There is only one word which wanders through his mind when he slides down, leaning against a tree, closing his eyes and embracing the cold inside him. 

One word.

James.

His name is James. 

 

**Part I – Clinton**

He woke up soaked with sweat. 

Groaning, he yanked the blanket away from his overheated body and blinked at the alarm clock. It was four in the morning, the birds were chirping and soon the sun would rise. He drained the glass of water which was standing on his bedside table in hasty gulps. He really should have repaired the air conditioning in the bedroom yesterday when the weather forecast had told him that the heat wave would start today with around 100 °F. And now it was four a.m. and he was sweating already. Fuck. 

He sighed and fell back into the pillow, closing his eyes again. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to drift off to sleep once more but standing up wasn’t really an option. Because what was there to do? Nothing. There was absolutely nothing to do. 

He had been in a deep undercover mission when shit hit the fan in D.C. It had been a nasty work to get out of Hydra’s claws who had appeared out of nothing suddenly. Clint had seen Natasha’s speech after the Washington incident in a too expensive bar at the Bangkok airport. There hadn’t been any communication between them. Clint had gathered that S.H.I.E.L.D. simply wasn’t there anymore and he had lost his occupation. 

Making his decision, he had written to Natasha that he got out safely and would be there when the Avengers would be in need of need him. Like really need him. Something like a _Aliens try to take over the world_ scenario. On other occasions he sure as hell wouldn’t drag his ass to NYC. He himself would take time out, thank you very much.

 _I have to deal with my own shit,_ he had written her, _I’ll come along when you guys really need me. But please leave me alone for some time. And don’t eat Cap alive._

After that, he had boarded the plane to the States and went to his safe house not even Fury or Natasha knew about. It had been his home long before he was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. but he had abandoned it many years ago, only visiting twice a year. ( ~~In his mind, he still could see his mother baking apple pie in the kitchen~~ ) But now it should be a perfect place for some well-deserved rest so he could deal with some things.

And that had been it.

He finally came home two weeks ago and all he had done was to restock his supplies and digging some patches for a vegetable garden. It were the simple things in life that kept him from freaking out. And now he was sweating like hell and trying to sleep again. Fucking heat. After tossing and turning forever, he gave up at five a.m. The cold shower did wonders to his tiredness and when the sun rose and shining ruthlessly his pancakes were ready to eat. 

After breakfast he sat at his table for half an hour, staring into nothing. He really should do some repairs, at least checking what was wrong with the air conditioning…damn, he definitely wasn’t full of vim and vigor. Finally deciding that the air conditioning could wait, he got up and resolved upon checking the outside of the house for easy things to repair. He discovered some rotten wood in the walls of the barn and worked on them for four hours until the midday sun was burning his neck and he fled into the house again for a light lunch and a nap. 

When he woke up he was covered in sweat again and decided that he really, really needed to repair the air conditioning. It was so hot his whole body seemed to stick together with the couch he’s been napping on.

“Gross,” he mumbled disgusted and fanned himself with an old magazine that had been lying on the couch table. At least he got the ceiling fan to work again and sighed happily after he had turned it on. Shortly after that he made some halfhearted attempts to get up from the sofa but didn’t move an inch at all. The heat was dazing him and it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep again. 

He maybe slept for twenty minutes when he awoke with a jolt. 

“What the hell?”

Something was wrong. He had no idea what it was but he had the feeling that something here was out of order. The hair on his neck stood up and he dove for his bow which was leaning against the wall next to the kitchen door. He took the bow and sprinted upstairs, climbed out of the bedroom window and perched on the roof, watching the environment. He did a full circle on the roof but couldn’t see anything wrong. He wanted to shrug it off as paranoia and make his way back through the window when he saw it in the corner of his eyes.

Something silvery glinted underneath the trees on top of the small hill located behind is barn. Fuck. His first instinct was to shoot an arrow to eliminate any danger. He drew his bow, concentrating on his target. Waited, waited. But he didn’t let the arrow fly. The silvery something wasn’t moving at all. Clint stood there motionless trying to figure out what the hell was up there under the trees. Eventually, he put the arrow back into the quiver, shouldered his bow and jumped onto the roof of his barn, climbing down. He walked a wide circle until he was near enough to crouch down behind the object and _see_. 

What the hell?

The silver thing was an arm, attached to a body. A heavy breathing weak body leaned against the tree. If this was a killing commando it was a very bad one, Clint thought and pulled out an arrow again, drawing the bow. He approached the body as silent as he could from behind and held his breath. The figure didn’t move, just breathed harshly and didn’t even flinch when Clint jumped out from behind the tree with a “Don’t move” gesture. 

Clint looked at the person in front of him. 

A man leaned against the tree. Clint guessed he was around 30. The clothes he wore were torn and dirty. The sole of his left shoe was hanging off and the right shoe didn’t look any better. Under the hood of the jacket was a tangled mess of dirty dark hair visible. His jawline and chin were buried under a dark beard. The rest of his face was sunburnt and sweat was glistening. Where the jacket was mostly ripped off on the left side the silver arm glinted through. Why the hell was the arm silver-colored?

Suddenly the man in front of him moved and Clint tensed, pointing the arrow to the man’s face. 

Deep blue eyes watched Clint. Something shifted behind those eyes and the man looked like he wanted to stand up and attack him but then the tension left his body and he looked at Clint defeated. He eyed the arrow directed at him and made a gesture that said _come on, do it_.

Clint didn’t understand. Why was a hobo with a silver arm at his farm? 

The man suddenly shivered badly and passed out again. 

Clint stood there for another minute, tense and the arrow ready but eventually put the arrow down after deciding that a sunburnt hobo couldn’t do him any harm. Another bad shiver and the man’s whole body sagged and fell to the ground. Clint kneeled down in front of him and touched the sweaty forehead. It was still very warm outside but the man wore long sleeves and had an ice cold forehead. 

Clint’s suspicion that something was wrong was confirmed and he sighed heavily. He really couldn’t leave the hobo out here. Making a decision, he shouldered his bow again and lifted the unconscious body into his arms, carrying him down the hill bridal-style to not crush his bow. When he reached the kitchen door, he was panting a little bit. Ugh, he was getting out of shape. The downside of not having a job anymore. Come to think of it. He wouldn’t be paid as an Avenger, wouldn’t he? 

Shit.

Well…

Not time for that.

He stumbled into an awkward position when he laid the man onto his couch and suddenly they were nose to nose. _Of course_ the man would choose this time to open his eyes again and Clint jerked back. “Sorry,” he mumbled and stood up to get some distance between them. The man looked confused, taking in his surroundings. He wanted to say something but choked and then a painful sounding cough rattled his chest. 

“Uhh, wait here, I’ll get you a glass of water, okay?” Clint sprang into action and filled a large glass with water. He held it out for the man who eyed it in wonder for a few seconds but then accepted it and took a tiny sip. Another sip. A larger one. Soon the glass was empty and Clint refilled it in the kitchen. He grabbed two power bars on the way out and offered them together with the water. The man accepted them with a nod and Clint went to his bathroom to get a towel and a bowl of hot water. The bow never left his back. He was still suspicious but the figure on his couch looked so pathetic that he just couldn’t help it. 

When he came back the man was still sitting on his couch and chewing, the two power bars were gone. “You were sweating like hell back there, buddy,” Clint said to him, “and I think you have a pretty nasty sunburn. Here, I can help you if you want.” He handed the man the bowl. When the other one just scowled at it, Clint chuckled. “I just thought maybe want to wash your face,” he explained and didn’t find the questioning look endearing at all. Nope.

Finally, the man found his voice.

“Thanks, but I need to go.” The man said with a rough voice, then stood up and the hood fell down. He brushed his long hair back with his fingers.

 _Metal fingers_.

Clint’s brain finally had decided to work properly again. That was a metal arm. Clint tried not to stare too much but the man noticed it and tucked his left arm into his jacket pocket again, looking self-conscious. Clint promptly felt bad and offered the man a small smile.

“You looked like shit half an hour ago. Feel free to stay on my couch for the night. Where are you heading, by the way? Looks like you walked for quite a while.”

The man frowned as if he didn’t know the answer. He eyed the towel and the hot water, sat down again and began washing his face. Soon the water had the color of dirty sand and the stranger’s face was clean again. Clint expected a fully red face now but the man’s skin color was fresh and quite normal. Huh. Clint was sure the skin had been an angry red just half an hour ago. 

“So, where are you going?” he tried again, “quite an unusual route you took. There’s nothing here except my humble home of course. Were you coming for me?” 

Clint almost laughed out loud when the answer was a bitch face par excellence. 

“No, I was just passing through,” came the final answer as if it was obvious. 

“Okay…,” Clint said, scratching the back of his head, “and where were you going, again?”

The stranger opened his mouth but closed it again, no word coming out. His eyes got a slight hint of panic all of the sudden and he looked scared. And alone. Clint felt a rush of affection for the miserable looking man in front of him. 

“I,” the man began, “I don’t know.” Then he looked Clint straight in the eyes, helplessly. “I have no idea.”

“Uhm…,” Clint looked away, feeling uncomfortable, “I think you got a sunstroke, man. Don’t worry. A good night’s sleep and everything will come back. Tomorrow, you surely will remember.”

The man looked unsure and Clint sighed.

“Look. I uhh, can drive you home, if you’d rather like that? Where do you live? It can’t be that far.” 

He really hoped that the man had a home, even if he looked homeless.

The man brooded over this question and then looked at Clint blankly. There was no emotion behind those eyes and Clint shuddered slightly. Again on this evening, he thought that something was very wrong.

“I don’t have a home. I had one. A long time ago….I think.”

Great. Leave it to Clint to pick up amnesic strays who suddenly showed up at a house nobody knew about. 

He sighed again, giving the man an once-over. The man wasn’t shaking anymore the more Clint watched him the better he looked. Fit and healthy.

What? Had Clint been hallucinating back there on the hill? If he weren’t dirty and had torn clothes Clint never would have guessed he was the same man, he had seen at first.

Clint himself must have had a bad sunstroke.

Shaking his head, he watched the man closely who was staring blankly into nothing. 

“Do you have a name, at least?” he asked and the man looked back at him. There was something like recognition in his face and he gave Clint a small smile. His eyes lit up. That changed his whole appearance and Clint was a tiny little bit awed. This man had to be drop dead gorgeous when he was clean-shaved and in normal clothes which weren’t torn apart. He was so lost in his imagination that he almost didn’t catch what the man said.

“James. My name is James.”

And now there was a full, happy smile on his face.

Scratch that. This man _was_ gorgeous, regardless of how he was dressed or looked like at the first impression.

In his mind, Clint could see Natasha roll her eyes at him. _Don’t do the thing,_ she told him.

Naturally, Clint did the thing.

“Okay, _James_ ,” he said to him, testing the name on his tongue and also smiling, “how about a nice shower and a change of clothes and tomorrow we’ll figure out what to do with you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint doubts his decisions every once in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, guys. I am overwhelmed by all the love you've given me so far for one tiny winy chapter. Thank you so, so much for the comments, kudos and subscriptions! I would never have guessed that so many would like the idea. THANK YOU.

James looked at the shower blankly and Clint nudged him. “Come on. I’ve repaired the heater three days ago, you won’t have any cold water, I promise.”

James looked a bit more sullen and Clint had a hard time not to roll his eyes. He had no idea what happened to this dude but if he had to guess he would say that James had gotten hit on the head violently. Maybe he just needed a snatch of sleep. 

Clint reached for the tap to turn it on. Hot water began to fill the tub. “I’m going to prepare dinner during your bath. Uhm, do you need to take that thing off, or…?” Clint gestured to the metal arm awkwardly. James, who had been watching the steaming hot water with serious fascination, lifted an eyebrow and looked at him with a very accurate _Bitch, please_ face. Clint chuckled and showed him the shorts, sweatpants and black shirt he had brought with him. “I brought you some clothes. I think we should throw your old clothes out. Look at them. Or better, how about we burn them? Yeah, let’s burn them outside and have marshmallows for dinner.”

James was still silent, eyed the pile of clothes and then merely shrugged and _ripped_ the jacket off his body. He did the same to his shirt and…yup, there went the pants. And that was it. No underpants.

“Dude, what the _fuck_ ,” Clint closed his eyes and stumbled backwards. Shit, fuck. This man was perfection. God damn. “Why the fuck would you do that?” No, Clint was definitely not blushing. He was a grown ass man, god damn it. S.H.I.E.L.D. communal showers, okay? There he had seen plenty of perfect male bodies so why…?

Ugh.

“You said, we should trash it, so…” James said like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

Clint could just shake his head. “Whatever, you’re weird,” he declared and grabbed for James’ old clothes blindly. “Just get that dirt off your body, would you?” he asked went out of the bathroom, closing the door. He dared to open his eyes again and looked at the old clothes. They really looked like James had been wearing them non-stop while walking through the whole goddamn America. 

In the kitchen, he threw the pile in the trash and opened the fridge, positively not thinking about James and his nakedness upstairs. He concentrated hard on the content of his fridge instead. The state, the fridge was in, was depressing, but Clint would manage. He always did. 

Because it was still warm and he didn’t want to get more heat from a frizzling pan, he decided to make sandwiches. While preparing them, Clint asked himself repeatedly why he was doing this. He must be really bored. He couldn’t find another reason why he would let some creepy ~~hot~~ guy with a metal arm stay at his house. 

Maybe he missed dangerous situations.

Maybe he was just dumb.

He eyed his bow and his growing panic waned slightly. He could do this. He was only social. He hadn’t been social for years. Not even to Natasha. Not since…

 _None of this was your fault, Clint_.

“Not going there,” he muttered and finished making the sandwiches. He fished two cold beer out of the fridge and set the table. And then he waited.

And waited.

After forty minutes he frowned, shouldered his bow and creeped upstairs. It was so silent. Too silent. Had the guy bolted? Or was he planning Clint’s murder? Naked? Clint listened at the bathroom door and didn’t feel like a stalker at all. Nope. At first he heard nothing but then he could hear the splash of water and _silent weeping_. 

Fuck.

Clint jerked away from the door like it had burned him and moved downstairs quickly. Putting his bow down, he sat at the table and nursed his warm beer. He didn’t know what to think. This guy was clearly traumatized and disoriented. Maybe Clint should just give him a ride to the nearest hospital (nothing was near from here), dump James there and never see him again. He was not Clint’s problem. Not at all.

But…

Clint startled violently due to the sound of a beer bottle being opened and stared at James in disbelief. He hadn’t heard James approaching. But there he sat, dressed in Clint’s clothes which were a little bit too tight-fitting, taking a sip from his beer and looking at Clint. Clint looked right back and counted silently to ten, to calm the fuck down. He was ~~had been~~ a spy. Where were his instincts? If James would have been some super spy, Clint would have been dead by now. Damn.

He was clearly thinking too much. 

James was still looking at him. 

“Dig in,” Clint offered generously and began eating his own sandwich. James didn’t touch the sandwich, just nursed his beer and observed Clint in a totally non-attractive way. It was like James was assessing him in the silent creepy way, trying to make out Clint’s weak spots. It made Clint uncomfortable. He tried to play it cool and ensured that his bow was still within his reach. Everything was fine. 

“You sure you’re not hungry?” he asked James when he had finished his own sandwich. He drained his beer and fished two more out of the fridge, putting one in front of James. “Don’t drink that warm stuff. Sorry, I thought you’d come down earlier.” He sat down again and James’ eyes never left him. Clint finally snapped after finishing his second beer. 

“ _What?_ ”

James blinked.

“You haven’t told me your name,” he stated and Clint deflated. 

“Oh,” he said. That was awkward. “Sorry, I, uh…The name’s Barton. Clint Barton.”

James’ eyes widened and for a split second something like recognition lit up behind James’ eyes but before Clint could realize that, James closed his eyes with a hiss and rubbed his right temple. “You okay?” Clint asked a bit concerned. James nodded. “Yeah, just…just a headache.” He mumbled and Clint offered him a painkiller. “Maybe you’ll be able to sleep through the night with it,” he said but James shook his head.

“No, they won’t work anyway. And the headache will end, shortly. I get them constantly. It’s nothing.”

Clint lifted an eyebrow and then shrugged. It was none of his business, anyway. Tomorrow he would drive James to a hospital and that would be it. 

“If you say so,” he said and leaned against the kitchen counter. He crossed his arms and studied James who still rubbed his temple but showed no sign of recognition and didn’t react to Clint’s name at all. Fuck, he was just being paranoid. 

“Just eat,” he said and declared it was time for a third round of beer. When he turned around again, James was eating silently. Clint smiled into the bottle and let him eat. He tried to start a conversation a few times but James wasn’t really talkative. He only answered with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or didn’t say anything at all. 

“You’re no fun,” Clint said when James finished his second beer after a few minutes of silence. 

James sighed (oh my god, a different reaction!) and then shrugged (Clint hated _that_ reaction). Clint waited until James was finished and continued staring at Clint. Clint rolled his eyes.

“Dude, that’s creepy,” he told James and took his plate to dump it in the sink. “If you’re checking me out, you’re not very subtle.” Grinning, he turned around but James didn’t seem flustered by that statement. This guy really wasn’t any fun at all.

“Okay, how about I’m letting you sleep here tonight and tomorrow morning I’m driving you to the hospital, or do you prefer the police station? Looking for relatives or something?” he offered him. James frowned again and tensed visibly. 

“No,” he spat out and that was some serious vibe there. Clint made a step to his bow. “I don’t need a hospital. I’m not hurt. The police? Is that a threat?” James stood up and Clint had the suspicion that he wasn’t a harmless hobo. Not at all. He swallowed and took another step to his bow.

“No, man. I’m just concerned. You looked like you need help out there and were wandering around for _days_. And then you end up here in bumfuck nowhere. When was the last time you slept?”

James looked startled as if he didn’t understand Clint’s reasonably questions. 

“Concerned?” he asked and Clint nodded. “Sure. You looked like hell. And it seems I have a fable for picking up strays,” he tried to laugh but James looked so honestly surprised that Clint’s heart broke a little.

“Look, James,” he said softly, “I don’t mean you any harm, I promise. If you don’t want to go to the hospital or the police, I understand. But you said yourself that you have forgotten everything except your name. When was that?”

James thought for a moment, “I don’t know. A few weeks ago, I think.”

Clint nodded, “That’s what I thought. You lose your memories and then you’re walking around disorientated. If you’d ask me, I think you have some kind of trauma. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he explained.

“I’m fine. Tomorrow, I’ll go and won’t bother you anymore.” James said again in that cold tone and Clint felt oddly hurt by that. 

“And where do you intend to go?”

“Somewhere.”

“Why?”

“To forget.”

“But you _have_ already forgotten everything.”

“Not enough.”

“Why would you do this?”

James had no answer for that. Clearly, something was driving James somewhere. But neither of them knew _what_ it was and _where_ it wanted James to go.

Clint grew tired and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, James was observing his bow which Clint had grabbed unconsciously. 

“I’m really tired,” Clint told him, holding his bow close to his heart. “I’m going to put fresh linen on the bed in the guestroom and then I’ll sleep. You can go, or stay or murder me at night. I don’t care,” he said with a big yawn and went upstairs. Enough of that for tonight.

James followed him silently. Clint didn’t hear him at all. He just saw it out of the corner of his eyes. The wooden steps creaked under Clint’s feet but under James’ feet they were silent. Clint chose to ignore that and opened the door to the guest room which had been Clint’s room decades ago. Now it was just storage and nothing here could remind someone of a five-year-old Clinton at all. Clint had made sure of that. 

He moved a few storage boxes out of the way, opened the window to let fresh air in and prepared the bed. James stood by the door and observed every move Clint made. When he was finished he gestured to the bed. James approached him warily and sat down. Clint went to the door, saying “I’m putting out a new toothbrush for you. See you tomorrow,” and turned around, holding the door knob. 

An unexpected sight greeted him.

James was under the thin covers, head on the pillow and fast asleep. Wow. He really wondered how long James had gone without sleep. Clint closed the door as silent as he could and after a quick visit to the bathroom he was in bed himself. He was bone-tired but sleep wouldn’t come. He lay in bed for hours, listening into the night, straining his ears for unusual sounds. Sometime after midnight, he fell into a light slumber, waking up every other hour, listening for the sound of footsteps. But except for the usual night sounds nothing happened that night.

When Clint woke up eventually after the sun had long risen, James was still asleep. When James still hadn’t emerged out of the room at sunset, Clint went to look after him. James had barely moved during sleep. He didn’t look like he would wake up anytime soon, so Clint left him alone, texting with J.A.R.V.I.S..

Stark had given them all untraceable StarkPhones after the New York incident. He had promised them that nobody could hack their location and there was never any direct communication with them. It was just communication via J.A.R.V.I.S.. Clint hadn’t believed at first that Stark wouldn’t bother him or the others, hadn’t believed that J.A.R.V.I.S. would have the control, but since nobody else came here, they seemed to respect his decision and stayed aloof.

 **J.A.R.V.I.S. 4.23 p.m.:** _Miss Romanov asked about your well-being. And she would like to know if you want to meet Mr. Wilson. Furthermore, she and Captain Rogers are going on a mission, soon, an invitation for joining stands._

 **CFB 8.46 p.m.:** _hi, starks butler. tell her im fine. im not in the mood 4 some mission. tell her good luck._

 **J.A.R.V.I.S. 8.46 p.m.:** _Very well, Sir. Have a good evening._

Clint still found it strange to text or talk to an A.I. but it also was kind of cool. 

For dinner he cooked some vegetarian curry he had learn to cook when had been undercover in Malaysia. He made it out of the last fresh things he had in his fridge and realized that he had to go grocery shopping, soon. His thoughts had been about his house guest the whole day and that didn’t change when he ate his dinner. He wondered if James would go after he woke up or if he would stay. Here with him. It sure wouldn’t be so lonely. 

But hadn’t he chose exactly that? Clint just wanted to be left alone.

Yeah…it would be better if James chose to go.

When he was finished he put the leftovers in the fridge and scribbled a note for James, in case he woke up in the middle of the night half starved. After showering the sweat from the day away, he got ready for bed and peeked one last time into the guest room. The glass of water he put onto the bedside table earlier was empty, so James must have been awake. At least for a moment. But right now he was fast asleep, again. Clint got the feeling that this was the way this guy powered up again. Was that James life? Being awake for days and then sleep forever? Clint chuckled internally about his stupid imagination and refilled James’ glass in the bathroom before he went to bed.

That night he slept like a baby. His wake up call was at seven in the next morning with a bad dream.

_You have heart._

~+~

When he stumbled downstairs after a quick shower and seeing that James wasn’t in the guest room anymore he was a bit nervous. What if James had gone? What if he had stolen his car or something else? Every few hours Clint felt stupid about taking in a complete stranger. 

But then he entered the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. James was standing in front of Clint’s fancy coffee machine (one of the few luxuries he allowed himself) his hair sticking up in all directions, Clint’s pants sleep rumpled (he didn’t wear anything above his waist, god damn), eating the left over curry, and pouting. Clint wanted to laugh but at the same time his coffee machine made a noise like a dying whale and he panicked.

“What have you done?” he definitely not shrieked and jumped to stand next to James. His coffee machine sighed and suddenly wasn’t visible anymore because of so much steam surrounding it. Clint lunged behind the machine and pulled the plug. 

When the steam vanished and the noises died down he looked at James horrified who looked right back. 

“I wanted to make coffee, I feel like I haven’t had a decent coffee in 70 years.”

“Well, that’s an understatement. Just sit down and eat. I’ll make you coffee, Jesus. The coffee machine isn’t that hard to understand. Try one of Stark’s. _Then_ you’ll never get coffee again.”

James’ metal hand gripped the bowl hard and Clint could hear a faint cracking sound. “And leave that bowl intact, would you?”

Clint plugged the coffee machine back in and managed to make a more than decent coffee. He put one mug down in front of James and sat on the chair opposite of him. 

“Slept well?” Clint asked. James didn’t answer, just finished the curry. Clint sighed and continued sipping his coffee in silence. James’ arm glinted in the morning sun. There were scrapes beneath the shoulder as if James hat scrapped something off there. All in all it looked like a very high-tech prosthetic. How had he lost his arm? But why was it silver? Why not some realistic looking fake arm? Clint was sure that the metal arm could make worse damage than any other normal arm could ever do. 

He could only guess who James was or who he had been but he had a suspicion. 

He slurped his coffee loudly and watched James like a hawk (ha).

“Where did you get that arm, buddy?” Clint asked curiously, “Is it a war injury? Have you been to a war? Was it Iraq? I was stationed there ages ago when the whole mess had started.” But it hadn’t been for long. Coulson (and boy, his death still hurt like a bitch) had recruited him after an infamous mission where Clint had fought a boss-fight all alone and had rescued his team. 

James’ answer was the usual: a shrug and a grumbled “No”. But he frowned as if he wasn’t sure about that. 

“So you’re memories aren’t back yet? Got any idea when the trauma was caused?”

“I’m not traumatized,” James snapped.

“I’m pretty sure you are.” Clint answered doubtfully. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know anything about that.”

“I do know a lot, actually. Especially about trauma and PTSD.”

James pressed his lips together in anger and Clint asked himself where the happy smiling man was whom he had seen two days ago for a small moment.

“I’m going back to bed,” James said, leaving the cup of coffee untouched.

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Clint said sarcastically, “I’ll double everything on my grocery list, shall I?” 

The answer Clint received was the sound of the guestroom door being closed.

He frowned. Did that mean that James would stay? God, Clint sometimes really made stupid decisions. And could he risk it to leave the house for one day?

His empty fridge insisted that he had to.

And if the house was burnt down or he was robbed when he returned, it was his own fault. 

Nah, he had worse what-if-scenarios. 

With this thought he shrugged, wrote his grocery list, got dressed and drove to the nearest town one hour away.

~+~

Clint came back in the late afternoon with his truck full of groceries, that hopefully would last for about a month, and the collected mail from the post office which _Frank Clinton_ had received over the past weeks. The house was still standing and no sound was heard when Clint entered the house. A check on the guest room told him that James was asleep. _Again_. 

When Clint returned to the kitchen he quickly put half of his vegetables and other frozen things in the freezer, cursed the heat when he carried all the other bags into the house, and started cooking dinner.

James didn’t join him for dinner but Clint left him a note on the bedside table, telling him that there were leftovers in the fridge.

~+~

He didn’t see James (awake) for the next weeks, but his leftovers were always gone when he went to the kitchen in the morning. Clint couldn’t help but smile every time he saw the washed bowl or plate drying on the counter.

That particular situation reminded him of Natasha somehow. After a mission in Russia gone wrong Natasha had come straight to his S.H.I.E.L.D apartment in New York and had slept for two days straight in his bed. After that she had allowed Clint to take care of her for another day with food, massages and hot baths. After her stay at Clint’s she was all normal (if you could say so in her case) again and of course had acted like none of this hat ever happened.

Clint really hoped it would be the same case with James. James was intriguing and Clint wished he could help him more and get to know him better. At least he was sure that James wasn’t a hobo after all. That was something.

~+~

It was like living with a ghost.

~+~

Clint let him be. He would come out of his shell, eventually.

~+~

The heat wave finally ebbed away and made room for September. Clint stayed in the warm sun and picked the apples from the big apple tree behind his house. Munching one of them, he also thought about making a greenhouse so he could grow vegetables all year. But the more he liked the idea the more he knew that this task was impossible. He had to go back to New York sooner or later. He couldn’t hide forever. He was lucky the super villains were laying low right now and half of the Avengers were at some secret mission, anyway…but…

“These are quite delicious.”

Clint almost fell from the ladder he was perched on. The basket of apples fell to the ground, spreading the apples everywhere.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he yelped and grabbed a tree branch tightly while the ladder wobbled dangerously. A metal hand gripped the ladder and steadied it. 

Clint looked down and almost fell off the ladder again due to the sight that greeted him. 

James was standing there as if he had no concerns at all, chewing on an apple and _smiling_. But there was more. He was freshly shaved and his hair was short. Well, short-ish. It still looked hot, though. (No, not going there.)

All in all he looked like he stepped out of the Playgirl magazine. All these thoughts were processed in one second and Clint scrapped together all his Bartonesque finesse.

“Why, hello there, Sleeping Beauty.”

Nailed it.

“I borrowed your razor,” James said between his bites, “Hope you don’t mind.” He let go of the ladder and picked up the fallen apples to put them back into the basket. Clint climbed down and suddenly didn’t know what to do or to say. James was still a stranger to him who had lived in his house for weeks without really talking to him. 

James put the last apple into the basket and offered Clint a tentative smile gain. 

“Thanks for letting me stay, or should I say sleep, here. I think I really needed that. I wasn’t quite myself when you met me first.”

Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he took a big sip from his water bottle, draining it. He then tossed it into the basket to the apples.

“So, do you remember anything? Who are you?” he was honestly curious about that. 

“Ahh,” James said, looking away to the hill where Clint had found him, “not really.”

Clint was a bit disappointed by that. “Oh,” he said, “so are you still want to run away? Should I pack you a CARE packet?”

James snorted, still not looking at Clint.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I think that I don’t _want_ to remember. For all that I now I could be a mass murderer.” He looked at his metal arm with disgust, clenching the hand to a fist. “I think the answer isn’t _who am I_ but _what am I_ , don’t you think?” There was such sadness in his tone that Clint had the urge to hug the other man and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But that would be weird. 

“Thanks for letting me stay, by the way,” James continued, “I can’t even remember my walk here. Something bad has happened…well I _think_ it must have been something like that.”

“You’re suppressing your memories?” Clint asked cautiously. 

James just shrugged. Then he looked at Clint with sad eyes. “I don’t know what to do. I have nowhere to go. I don’t know what kind of man I have been before. What if I’ve been useless scum? I clearly ran away, didn’t I? Maybe I wanted to start over. I-,“ he interrupted himself, chewing on his lips, “I like it here. The quiet. The house. It, it kinda helped me.”

James looked like he wanted to say more but just pressed his lips together and stared at a point above Clint’s right shoulder, eyes going glassy. 

Clint felt a strong rush of sympathy for the man before him. 

He felt like Budapest all over again.

“You can stay here, if you want. Figure things out and stuff…,” Clint finally offered.

James looked at him directly and there was a faint hope visible in his eyes, “But I don’t know if I have any money on me….,” he said doubtfully.

Clint chuckled. “Don’t worry. I am generous like that,” he winked. “You do realize this is a farm, yeah? I think that wonder arm of yours really can do some heavy lifting. Just help me a bit and we’re fine.”

God, what was he doing? Without S.H.I.E.L.D.’s paycheck…nah, he didn’t want to think about that. 

But it felt _right_. And Clint’s gut feeling had never disappointed him before.

“Come on, we’re going to make apple pie. I’m in the mood for apple pie.” He slowly went to the house, carrying his basket and smiled when he could hear James steps behind him almost immediately. 

~+~

They had eaten the whole apple pie. James had done most of it, suddenly remembering a recipe he had learned from a woman named Sarah. When Clint had asked him about Sarah, James said that he had a face of her in mind but couldn’t place her. 

“She could be my mother and I wouldn’t know,” James had said and Clint had quickly changed the topic. (“Hey, I think I’ve measured this incorrectly, help please?”)

The vibration of Clint’s StarkPhone interrupted their food coma. “Sorry,” Clint mumbled when James was startled by the sound. He checked the phone and sighed.

 **J.A.R.V.I.S. 7.16 p.m.** _There has been an attack, Sir. The Quinjet is on its way. The autopilot has your position. ETA 17 minutes. Captain Rogers wants you to pack for a mission, too._

Clint pushed back the adrenaline rush building up in his body.

“Aw, crap,” he said, standing up, “I uh…have to go to work.” He left the kitchen, grabbed his prepared bag which always stood by his bedroom door, shouldered his bow and quiver and snatched his uniform out of the closet. He would change in the Quinjet. When he bolted back to the kitchen James was still sitting at the table, a few crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t know you work. You’ve been here the whole time.” He said while Clint fumbled with the coffee machine. Fucking villains and their timing. Clint was tired, god damn it. 

“I uh work kind of infrequently,” Clint didn’t know if it would be a good idea to tell James about the Avengers. Natasha had leaked everything about them, anyway. So James _should_ know who he was, but he didn’t _want_ to remember so Clint would fib a little bit. For now.

“What are you working? And why at such times?”

“I’m a security adviser. High priority and such. Sorry, it’s classified.”

James didn’t look very convinced but nodded. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll…stay here then?” he asked awkwardly (shyly).

Clint sipped his coffee and nodded. “Sure, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but it won’t be longer than a week, I think.” He hoped. He had no idea what mission Steve was talking about. 

“Okay,” James said again, a little bit disappointed. Clint felt bad, immediately.

“I have to take my phone with me and don’t have a land line, uh…shit. We have to buy you a phone as soon as I come back. But you can use my laptop if you want.”

Was there porn on the laptop? 

Yeah, definitely. But whatever. James was a grown ass man. And Clint had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Here, let me write down my password,” Clint searched for something to write and wrote the password on a sheet of paper after he had found a pen.

 **J.A.R.V.I.S. 7.30 p.m.** _ETA 3 minutes._ his phone told him and Clint cursed.

“Shit, fuck. I have to go.” He gave an awkward wave, “I would really appreciate it if you were still here when I come back,” he said in a rush and bolted out of the door before James could see his slightly red cheeks.

Packed, he ran up the hill to the big opening between the trees. When he reached the place he already could hear the Quinjet approaching. 

The plane landed smoothly before him and Clint boarded it. He set the autopilot for New York City and looked out of the window when the Quinjet took off again. It fascinated Clint that Stark had created such a beauty of a plane with Mach 3 capability. He looked out of the window, watching his farm become smaller and smaller. The light in the guest room had been switched on. 

He hoped that James would still be there when Clint would be back. The baking had been fun and it was comfortable talking to James. It didn’t matter that the other man couldn’t remember anything but his name. Clint would help him become the person he wanted to be. Or the person he had been. James was so nice and easy going that Clint ~~didn’t want to believe he was a bad guy~~ believed he was a decent human being and that his past wasn’t as disastrous as James assumed.

When the Quinjet went into supersonic mode, Clint got away from the window, changed into his uniform and put the communication earpiece into his right ear.

Straightening his back, he checked his quiver and arrows and switched to Hawkeye mentally.

_What’s up, bitches? Missed me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention slow build? Well, it's a slow build story u.u


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint feels lonely.

Clint was perched on the roof of a ruin looking at the supposed hydra base underneath him. They came here, to the fucking snow-clad mountains, two hours ago, and despite the suit Stark had given him, he was freezing his ass off. 

“God, why do they have to hide in the fucking Alps?” Clint bitched and suppressed a shiver while looking through his pair of binoculars and searching for some kind of activity beneath the ever frozen ground. He still wasn’t sure where that base was supposed to be but Nat and Steve were sure of it. 

He heard the mechanical sound of Iron Man approaching behind him. “Your suit is shit,” he told Stark. The emotionless mask of Iron Man looked at him.

“Don’t be a pussy, Barton. It’s still experimental and I don’t see you freezing to death, so shut up.” He turned to the ground beneath them and scanned the area, too. Steve and Nat were approaching from the ground and Falcon was on the other side of the base, stationed on another ruin, together with Bruce who hadn’t hulked out yet. Thank god. 

“You sure they didn’t see us coming?” Clint asked and Iron Man shook his head. “No, J.A.R.V.I.S. checked and it seems that this is an outdated base but still active. I have no idea why this is so important but the glory trio needs something from here. And why not blow up the whole thing when you’re at it,” he told him and Clint nodded.

The New York attack had been under control surprisingly fast after Clint joined them and Stark had made his way all there from Malibu. They all had stayed at the Avengers Tower overnight and Steve had approached them with a new mission the morning after. There was something going on between Wilson, Nat and Steve. Stark didn’t like it at all and Clint didn’t care. He knew that they had had a few missions together and Clint had said explicitly that he didn’t care at all if it wasn’t strictly Avengers business. They had respected that and Clint needn’t to whine like Stark did. Steve had told Clint in private that he could join them anytime, whenever he felt for active duty again. Clint had just nodded at that knowing that this could take years. He was just so tired and was grateful for the break from spy business. 

But since this was Hydra-related and those assholes had stolen Clint’s occupation and everyone who wanted the Captain dead was Avengers-business now, Clint had tagged along. And now he regretted it. Because it was cold, damn it. And it seemed this one was a dead end. 

They stood there for hours, chatting was rare and it was mostly only banter between Clint, Stark and Wilson. Steve was suspiciously silent the whole time and seemed to talk over the private channel with Nat. Clint felt a sting of jealousy whenever they both went silent. He had the feeling he was being replaced as the best friend. But it was kind of his own fault. He _had_ cloistered himself away. 

But it wasn’t for long, anyway. Clint knew that he would be back 100% sooner or later. Maybe later. ( ~~Because there was someone at his home now and maybe he would stay, so Clint had something to look forward to after missions.~~ )

Clint tried to shake off the thoughts about James because he couldn’t afford being distracted now. This was Hawkeye business. He shoved Clint Barton away and looked through the night sight device this time; darkness had crept up on them fast.

He scanned the ground and found nothing. Again. Sighing he looked up, spotting Wilson and Banner on the other side. In the moment he wanted to look away, he saw a third heat signature not far from them, climbing up the eastern wall of the ruin. And another. And another. Shit.

When Clint hissed _Barton, Wilson, you’ve got company from the east. I repeat, activity on your three o’clock._ Iron Man’s repulsors went off simultaneously to shoot someone behind them. Clint sprang into action as more and more Hydra agents climbed up to them. There seemed to be a hidden entrance _in_ the fucking ruins. Bad Luck. But since the Hydra agents had found them after only six hours Stark had to be right, they couldn’t be equipped with fancy technology. They could do this. There couldn’t be that many men.

_We’ve found the entrance._ Natasha told them.

“Then fucking go in and search what you came for. We can handle this. Clint barked as he pierced an arrow through the eye socket of one Hydra agent. Stark, Wilson and Banner agreed with him and Steve and Natasha turned off their comms and vanished in the shadows (Well, in Nat’s case. The captain wasn’t very subtle with his entrances.)

Clint and the others had the agents under control surprisingly fast and after half an hour nobody came after. Wilson, de-hulked Banner and Clint gathered at the Quinjet while Stark went on air patrol to check for other threats and their missing dynamic duo. They had to wait for roughly an hour for a sign (“We’re on our way. Detonation in 7 minutes.”), and Clint warmed up in the Quinjet, preparing their flight back. He loved to fly and if he had the chance, he almost always turned off the auto pilot. 

Five minutes later Steve and Natasha boarded the Quinjet with Stark in tow and Stark sat in the co-pilot’s seat after he exited his Iron Man suit. 

“Hold on tight, guys. Gonna be a bumpy ride,” Clint warned them as vibrations of the first explosions underground shook through them and they took off. 

When they reached the right flight level and all calmed down a bit (“It was a successful mission, we found what we came for,” Steve said happily and Clint had the suspicion that the whole drama had been about a god damn _paper file_.) Clint allowed himself to relax. He listened to the banter between Stark and J.A.R.V.I.S. and looked at the dark sky before him. As soon as his whole mind and body relaxed, and he flew the Quinjet automatically, his mind wandered to James. 

He had a queasy conscience because he had left him so abruptly and really hoped that James would still be there when he came back. He had entertainment, though. Maybe he was roaming Clint’s fake Netflix account the whole time and remembering which TV-Series he liked. Maybe he had remembered everything by now. Maybe he had left Clint a letter, telling him, that he left and thanks for the hospitality. Maybe he had left with no note at all.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But one could hope.

And Clint hoped and thought about all the stuff they needed to buy for him. 

Speaking of stuff he needed.

“Hey, Stark. You got another one of your fancy phones but without the whole J.A.R.V.I.S. OS?” he asked and Stark nodded absently. “You mean the Premium StarkPhone 8.3 with all the extravagant stuff, no tracking included?”

“I think so?” Clint said a little bit unsure. “How much is that? Can I get an Avengers discount or something? It’s a present for a friend.”

Stark looked up at that, lifting an eyebrow. “Expensive present, that. You want to get into someone’s pants? Barton, you dog.”

“Ha ha,” Clint said drily, “no, seriously. He lost his phone recently and is a bit short of money but he doesn’t want that iPhone shit. Can’t blame him.”

Stark smirked, “Your friend is a wise man. Can’t blame you for wanting to fuck him. StarkTech is irresistible.”

A frustrated sigh escaped Clint. “You know what? Forget that I asked,” he huffed and put away his headset, letting the other man take over. He walked to the far end of the jet where Natasha and Steve were sitting, and discussing in hushed tones. When they noticed him approaching they stopped and Clint couldn’t help but wonder what that suspicious mission was about. It was interesting that they didn’t share the mission with the whole Avengers.

_That’s got nothing to do with you, Barton._ Clint told himself and squeezed himself between them. “Admit it, your so-called secret missions are secret dates. Nat, I’m hurt. I thought I am the love of your life.” 

Waggling his brows he put his arms around them. 

“I wouldn’t say no to a threesome, though.”

“You disgust me, Clinton,” Natasha said and swatted him against the head, hard.

Steve just chuckled, “Don’t be jealous, Clint. I won’t steal your BFF. And we’re not like that.” Hearing Steve say “BFF” was pure gold.

“I know, Bro,” Clint said, “and I know you aren’t. Boy, your taste is much better than that, I hope.” 

He cackled and avoided Natasha’s second hit, jumping to his feet again. “I love you, too, Nat.” He blew her a kiss and grabbed his bow to check if everything was still alright; he did have some nasty close combat down there. But everything was still in tip top condition and after a short stop at the toilet, he went back to the cockpit. Stark wasn’t in the Co-Pilots seat anymore. He was geeking out with Banner, instead (“The whole world in peace, Bruce!”). Clint put the headset back on and talked a little bit with J.A.R.V.I.S. about some technical details.

One hour later he landed the Quinjet on the Avengers Tower craving for a warm bed and sleep. 12 hours of sleep. Yeah, that sounded great. The others wanted to celebrate the mission with a movie night but Clint just declined and retreated to his floor. 

Since the Avengers had formed two years ago, Clint had visited his floor only four times. A shame, really. Because this apartment. God damn. Concerning the luxury, his old house was nothing compared to this. Apparently Stark had too much money. But Clint wouldn’t complain. The Tower had its perks now and then. 

Clint enjoyed the view for a while, letting Manhattan by night sink in. A beautiful sight. But the longer he stood there, watching the tiny cars drive by, the lonelier he felt. That sight was not useful for anything when you couldn’t share it with someone. 

He wasn’t getting any younger and now, without his regular occupation, he had too much time to dwell on that particular thought.

Years ago, he had hoped he could have _it_ with Natasha. He knew that she had wanted it, too. But.

But…

Apparently broken agents and assassins couldn’t have nice things.

Clint sighed and pushed the depressing thoughts out of his head. He took a long, hot and very relaxing shower, brushed his teeth (without looking at his reflection in the mirror) and crawled beneath the blankets. Thanks to his exhaustion, sleep came quickly and he was in a blissful, dreamless state within minutes.

Feeling a bit more social on the next morning (okay, midday) he decided to eat his breakfast (lunch) upstairs. When he entered the communal floor he could hear laughter from the kitchen and followed the sounds. Wilson and Steve were in the room, sweating (even Steve) and mixing some protein shakes. 

“You’re both gross. If you have the urge to jog around New York, go at least showering afterwards.” Clint greeted them and opened the fridge, searching for something edible (which wasn’t difficult considering whose tower they were currently in). 

“There’s leftover pizza from the night,” Steve said, drinking his shake in large gulps, “Natasha ordered one for you, too. She said you love cold pizza.”

“Awesome.”

He found the pizza somewhere above his head and would have kissed Nat if she were in the room with him. He sat down at the table, biting in the first slice happily and drinking one glass of the shake, Wilson had put next to his pizza. They joined him at the table and lured him into a conversation about Baseball. 

When he was finished with the pizza, he stood up to brew some coffee. As soon as the scent of coffee filled the room, Stark appeared out of nowhere and took the mug Clint had filled for himself.

“Thank fuck,” he muttered over Clint’s protests and Clint winced when Stark gulped the scalding hot beverage down. What the hell. Before Clint could muse over Stark’s apparently dead throat, Stark threw a package at him which he caught automatically.

“Thanks for the coffee, consider this your payment, barista,” he said and helped himself with another cup. He then sat down at the table too and zoomed out, playing with some hologram that had appeared in front of him. 

“Huh,” Clint said and looked down at the package which turned out to be a StarkPhone Lux 9.0. What the fuck. He hadn’t heard of this model. When he asked Stark about this, he just shrugged. “It’s going to be on the market in two months, I think. Just take it. And don’t worry about the phone plan. It might have unlimited data and stuff, you know the drill with your own phone. We could use some anonymous testing. You can tell me later what your _friend_ thinks about it. It has all the perks of your phone without too much J.A.R.V.I.S. intervening.” He then rattled of some technical details which weren’t of any interest for Clint.

Clint grinned at him. “Thanks, _Tony_. I appreciate it,” he interrupted his rant.

Tony shrugged it off and sipped his coffee. Clint trashed the pizza package, finally poured his own mug and went to his floor again to deposit the phone in his bag. He couldn’t wait to show this to James. _If_ he were still at home. Ugh, he didn’t want to depress himself with such thoughts.

He wondered how much longer he would stay here when J.A.R.V.I.S. suddenly blared,

_AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!_

“Aww, c’mon.”

~+~

In the end Clint had to stay for another 10 days for the aftermath of the previous incident he had come here for. That dipshit scientist had had more supporters than they had thought. 

Fucking Hell.

~+~

The Quinjet landed on the hill behind his farm at precisely 6.52 p.m. Clint erased his coordinates out of the system and shouldered his bag and bow. 

“Thanks, man. I’ll see you later,” he told J.A.R.V.I.S. as he exited the jet.

“It was a pleasure, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. answered and the Quinjet took off again, as soon as Clint hopped onto the grass. He winced because of his sprained ankle and watched the Quinjet fly away quickly. He loved that thing. Too bad it was customized and cost a bajillion. He looked after it until it vanished. When he turned around he suddenly collided with a body. 

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” he exclaimed and had his hands at his bow until he realized that it was James standing before him. The other man was standing there nonchalantly, hands in his pockets and watching Clint curiously. 

“I thought I heard something,” he said in a neutral tone and then frowned. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Clint said, trying to get his racing heart under control. (James was still here! Oh God, oh god.) “Don’t spook me like that, dude,” he complained and made a face because of the weight he had put on his ankle unconsciously. 

James took his bag (He tried to take the bow, too. Clint may or may had not hissed at that.) and started to go down the hill in the direction of the farm. 

Clint tried very hard to hide his smile and followed him down. Reaching the garden behind the house, he suddenly stopped. There, right there was a green house. What the hell.

“Uh, James?”

James, who had been half way through the kitchen door, stopped and turned around.

“Hm?” he asked and Clint pointed at the green house. “I don’t remember building that.”

James looked at the pointed direction and his eyes lit up with recognition. “Ah, yeah. I built that.”

Huh.

“When?” he asked dumbly.

“Two days after you left. I stumbled over your list of repairs and ideas. Since I don’t know how to repay you for your kindness I worked through that list.”

“What? You repaired everything what I had written down? How? Even I don’t know how to do most of the things.”

“The Internet.” James said with a hint of _duh_.

Clint was speechless. He stood there, in his own garden, and didn’t know what to say. 

“And how did you get the materials? I was too lazy to buy all that shit.”

Now James was looking at him as if Clint was the crazy one here. 

“I bought it.” 

With what? Clint wanted to ask but he didn’t want to look too dumb. But his face seemed to betray him since James sighed and elaborated.

“I looked for your emergency credit card, which by the way was horribly hidden. Your sock drawer, seriously?! I took the card and drove to the next DIY market. Simple as that. I’m sorry for taking the card but since you wanted to do the repairs anyways I got the feeling that you wouldn’t mind. Now, are you going to come? I was just preparing dinner when I heard the jet.”

James turned around again and entered the house. 

Why did he even know that Clint had an emergency credit card?

To prevent the shutdown of his brain, Clint decided to just roll with it and followed him.

James had gotten a lot more confident in the last days, it seemed. In the kitchen nothing was out of ordinary except for the fridge which was bulging. He sat down and thanked James for the beer he offered him. James just smirked and went back to chopping vegetables. It smelled heavenly in here and Clint’s mouth watered.

“So, you remembered?” he asked hesitantly, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that James did all the repairs in under two weeks.

James’ shoulders tensed for a moment. 

“No, I just, uh google everything. But I realized that I have to read everything only one time to remember it.”

“Neat,” Clint commented. He looked at the beer in his hands and noticed that it was imported beer. Russian beer. Huh. He tried it. Woah. Tasty. And strong. Very strong.

“Were you just trying this or did you remember that you like this?” Clint asked him, wondering where the hell James had got it from. 

“Kind of. I stumbled upon it and just knew that it would taste nice,” James answered, putting the chopped vegetables into the pan. 

“What did you do the whole time? Repairing and shopping?” Clint grinned and tried to will away the warm feeling that threatened to overtake his body. He suddenly felt so domestic that it almost hurt. Back at the tower he had felt lonely most of the time but now…

Now…

God, this felt so unreal. James was still a stranger to him, he had been alone here for two weeks and Clint…

Clint had to get out of here.

“I uh…I’m going to take my stuff upstairs, yeah?” When he made a grab for his bag, James didn’t let him take it. “I’ll bring it upstairs. You’re limping. It hurts, doesn’t it?” James asked and Clint rolled his eyes.

“I told you it’s alright. Don’t baby me, dude. You don’t know me,” Clint was feeling really uncomfortable right now. Why the hell was he so happy that James was staying here, cooking for him, and doing nice things for him? Clint didn’t know how to respond to such niceties. 

James’ face shut off at Clint’s comment and his blue eyes were so cold all of the sudden. He took a step back and turned around, watching the cooking vegetables stoically. 

Clint bit his lip and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

“Shit. I didn’t want to lash out. I…sorry, okay?” He fled the room and carried his bag upstairs. When he dumped his clothes in one corner and put his bow next to his bed, he pulled at his hair and screamed internally. Wincing, he sat down onto his bed and realized it had fresh sheets. 

“For fuck’s sake, Barton,” he groaned and looked at his ankle sullenly. It hurt like a bitch. But that was nothing compared to how much of a bitch _he_ was. 

Ugh.

Maybe he would be nicer with his pain meds. He rummaged in his jacket for the pills Dr. Cho had given him and regretted that he hadn’t stayed for her ‘experimental healing option’. But he didn’t really wanted to act as her guinea pig. (“Man up, Barton. Look, my wrist is a good as new.” “I’ll pass, Tony. Go play with your new best friend, and geek out. No offense, doc.”)

He ~~was hiding~~ waited for another few minutes in his room until the heavenly smell, coming from the kitchen, reached his nose. His stomach rumbled in agony and Clint went downstairs again. When he reached the kitchen, he leant against the door frame and watched James who stood with the back turned to him. Clint really was a terrible spy since he couldn’t read James’ body language at all. That bothered him more than it should. James filled two plates with his stir-fry and put them on the table. Without looking at Clint, he said, “You’re coming to eat, or what?” and sat down.

Clint joined him and was surprised how good it tasted.

“That’s delicious, man,” he moaned, “you sure that it’s without meat?”

James’ mouth twitched as if he tried to hide a smile and he nodded. 

“I think I don’t like cooking with meat. Maybe I’m a vegetarian? I feel like I didn’t eat meat often. I’ve been to this super market a few days ago and there was so much meat, in all varieties. I was so overwhelmed. I couldn’t believe it. I…uh...,” James looked uncomfortable all of the sudden. “Sorry, I…I’m talking too much.”

Clint chuckled, “No, that’s nice. See, your subconsciousness knows everything about you. Just roll with it. Even if you don’t remember. You’re still you, aren’t ya?” Clint clapped him on the shoulder (the metal one, James flinched) and resumed eating. 

James seemed to muse over his words and ate much more slowly than Clint. James brooded the whole dinner and Clint wanted to get him out of whatever thoughts were plaguing him.

“You wanna watch some Netflix? I have to catch up on some stuff. But I don’t have a TV, since I haven’t been here often, uh…whatever. You in?” He asked as he put the empty plates in the dish washer. 

James blinked at him.

“What’s a Netflix?” he asked confused and Clint gasped theatrically. 

“You have forgotten everything important, haven’t you? Don’t worry, we’re going to have so much fun.” He tried to laugh like a manic villain, and when James cracked a real smile at that Clint felt so _happy._

~+~

James insisted on Charlie Chaplin. (“I know that actor!”)

And if Clint silently counted every single one of James’ laughs while they watched _City Lights_ …well…Clint was great at ignoring things. Mastered it even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, there wasn't much Bucky here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is an asshole and Clint is too old for this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. The different tenses are intentional. Present tense fits better for Bucky.
> 
> Thank you, THANK you, for all the kudos, comments, subscribes and bookmarks! I'm always so happy after getting a notification and answering comments is so much fun!
> 
> And huh, I seem to update every Thursday. Weird. Let's keep it that way.

  
I didn’t break anything, I broke myself,  
we’ll meet again one of these days.  
\- Stromae – avf 

**Part 1.5 – James**

“Awww, c’mon. Fuck this shit.”

James looks up from his fourth hot dog and grins. Clint is standing in front of their newly acquired TV (“Dude, I got a fucking huge paycheck for my Aven-, uh for my security advising stuff. Let’s buy a goddamn TV and every program one can buy. I’m tired of sitting in front of the small laptop screen all the time!”) and zapping furiously. The big TV screen showed nothing. Clint pulls at his hair and throws the remote on the couch, next to James. 

“Are you sure, I can’t help?” James asks, devouring the rest of his hot dog and grabbing the next. Clint had brought the hot dogs with him when he came back from his most recently New York job. (“A fucking giant squid and its babies were trying to swallow fucking Brooklyn, I tell you.” – “You’re kidding.” – “Maybe. Anyways, here, dig in. We stopped at _Nathan’s Famous_. A colleague of mine wanted to eat there. Told us this restaurant was around when he was young.” – “Sounds like a grandpa.”)

“No, you can’t. Eat your hot dogs, I’m just glad they are still hot. Sometimes StarkTech isn’t so bad, eh?” Clint asks and pats the bag, he had brought the hot dogs with, and helps himself with a hot dog. He chews in deep thought. “Maybe it’s the satellite dish…I should have bought the expensive one. Ugh,” he mumbles and takes the last bite. 

James doesn’t bother to offer his help again, just watches as Clint goes outside, stays in front of the living room window for a moment and then jumps at the wall, climbing up easily. 

He can hear Clint walking and cursing on the roof ( ~~Why can he hear that? There’s a whole floor and an attic between them.~~ ) and a minute later the large TV screen flares to life and James takes the remote, impressed that there are around 2000 channels available. 

Clint appears next to him after a few minutes, whooping at the brilliant quality the TV offers and throws himself next to James. He makes a grab for the remote (James allows it. ~~He could stop Clint from getting the remote in many ways.~~ ) and whines when he sees that there is only one hot dog left.

“Really, James?” he asks and bites into the last hot dog with a pout. He starts to zap through the channels and stops by a movie about some kind of apocalyptic disaster. James can only shake his head at the absurdity of the movie when a subway car flies through the air but smiles when Clint cheers at the destruction happening on screen. 

Normally, James feels haunted all the time. He has the urge to run away, to hide, 24/7. The need to flee is very strong when Clint is away on his job. Sometimes he is away for a few weeks, sometimes just a day. It depends. James learned not to ask about it because he can see when someone lies to him and Clint always does that when he talks about his job or mentions a colleague on a rare occasion. Interestingly enough, James isn’t bothered by that. Because it’s the only time Clint isn’t telling the truth. All the other times, Clint is honest, brutally so. And James likes it, likes Clint’s no-bullshit-attitude. And whatever Clint does outside of this farm – it doesn’t matter. 

He had given James a place to stay when he had wandered through the woods without orientation. He helped him. Helps him. Without expecting anything. Of course, Clint has his own demons. James knows the haunted look that Clint sometimes wears when they meet at night in the kitchen, both of them not able to sleep. He knows it too well. But Clint always shoves that away and radiates happiness and warmth as soon as he lays eyes on James.

And James’ haunting demons back away, at least for a while.

He comes out of his thoughts when Clint dumps a bucket of popcorn into his lap. The channel has changed and James groans when he realizes it’s that ridiculous reality show _Keeping up with the Kardashians_. 

“I thought you hated that,” James protests, stuffing a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

Clint fumbles with the band-aid strapped across his nose and shrugs with a guilty smile. 

“You know what?” He says. “It’s kinda grown on me.”

And James feels ice cold all of the sudden. It roars in his ears and a splitting headache forms in his skull.

_  
A pub._

_Great music._

_He’s sitting at the bar. Someone talks._

_“…into the jaws of death?” the faceless person asks._

_“Hell, no!”_

“-es? James??”

Clint’s panicked voice waves to him; it sounds like he is miles away. 

The headache becomes unbearable. James blinks and blinks and with every blink another faceless figure seems to be in his line of vision.

_Uniforms. They all wear uniforms._

_They are all walking tiredly, following a tall man, James right behind him. They reach a camp._

“JAMES!”

A hand slaps his cheek and James snaps out of his head, reacting automatically. His right hand grabs Clint’s left wrist and he twists it. Clint gaps, bending to the side to avoid pain and James uses his momentum to throw him on the floor. When Clint falls, James goes with him and presses Clint down with his knees, twisting Clint’s arm behind his back.

He wonders if he should break Clint’s arm to teach him a lesson, or punch his metal fist into Clint’s back when there comes a muffled sound from Clint that sounds like a broken spoken _James, please_.

The headache fades and James becomes aware of his surroundings again. Shocked, he scrambles away from Clint and holds his metal arm with his normal hand, as if he has to restrain it from lashing out to Clint. He can feel every hum and every whirr of his metal arm. He had ignored the arm as best as he could for most of the time but now the metal arm _itches_.

Clint gets on his feet slowly, shaking his wrist. 

“Dude, that was mean,” he winces when he shakes his wrist with too much force. “Sorry, I slapped you. But you zoned out. And I didn’t know what to do.” He shrugs helplessly and James takes a few steps back until his back collides with the wall. He can’t believe what he’s done. And _Clint_ is the one apologizing. 

“No,” he says with a rough voice, “please don’t apologize. I’m sorry, I don’t know what…I had this headache and I remembered…something”

But it isn’t in his head anymore. Everything he had visualized. It’s like remembering a dream but worse. The more he tries to remember, the more he forgets. 

His metal arm jerks violently and he has to concentrate for keeping it under control.

“Fuck.” James sinks onto the floor and ignores Clint who is asking him what’s wrong. 

He wants to remember.

He has to remember.

He has to…

White spots are dancing in his vision. 

Darkness is creeping up on him and he welcomes it with all his heart.

~+~

_…Five-seven_

~+~

_…Five-five-seven_

~+~

_…Three-two-five-five-seven_

~+~  
_Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven._

~+~

_Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!_

~+~

He sleeps and lives the life of a stranger.

He wakes and lives the life of a stranger.

~+~

**Part 2 – Clinton**

Clint was ignoring his vibrating phone. Again. He just came back a week ago. New York could very well burn to ashes right know. He didn’t fucking care. He had better things to do. Like coaxing James out of his room.

Since the Clint-got-his-face-pressed-into-the-carpet-and-not-in-the-fun-way-incident they were back to the basics. James was in his room most of the time, refusing to talk to Clint, not even looking him in the eye. He was ashamed and disgusted that he had reacted like that when Clint had tried to snap him out of his frightening state.

Clint had still no idea what the hell had happened. One minute they had been talking about Clint’s new favorite TV-Show and the next minute, James went rigid next to him, shaking and sweating. He had reminded Clint of the day he had found him. When James hadn’t reacted to his voice, Clint had panicked and James’ response had come promptly.

Clint had the suspicion that something had triggered James’ memory. But he didn’t know what, exactly.

He stood in front of James’ door, looking down at the tray which hadn’t been touched the whole night. Frustrated, he knocked at the door, again.

“Come on, James! Talk to me, maybe I can help. You remembered something, didn’t ya? It can’t be that bad.”

Clint’s wrist ached with the movement and he winced. No answer. As usual.

His phone vibrated again and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was J.A.R.V.I.S.. But since his lock screen didn’t show any _Avengers Assemble_ he would be okay. The Avengers could wait.

Clint leaned against the door and sighed. “You can tell me, James. I won’t judge you. We’re friends.” There was a faint sound behind the door, like movement on the bed. Clint strained his ears but nothing else was audible. 

“Okay, I got it. Brood as long as you like. I’ll be downstairs, then.”

He shuffled downstairs and threw himself onto the couch. Lying there, he scrolled through the text messages. One hour ago, Clint’s presence had been requested but whatever problem they might have had, it was sorted out, now. In the last message Tony had told him via J.A.R.V.I.S. that they seemed to have had a small security breach and J.A.R.V.I.S. had overreacted. Tony had it all under control, thank you very much.

Clint just merely raised an eyebrow at the last message and wanted to put it away when a new message appeared.

 **J 10.29 a.m.:** _Are we really friends?_

 **CFB 10.29 a.m.:** _of course, dumbass._

 **J 10.30 a.m.:** _I’m sorry I hurt you. I think I’ve done bad things, Clint. Please, don’t call me your friend. You wouldn’t be my friend, if you knew…_

 **CFB 10.30 a.m.:** _knew what?_

There wasn’t an answer and Clint rolled over frustrated, screaming in the pillow. It was driving him mad. He wanted to help James so desperately but he just wouldn’t talk-

“I don’t know.”

James and his sneak attacks. 

Clint looked over the couch rest. James stood there, red rimmed eyes, pale and rumpled clothes.

“You have me really confused here, pal.” Clint said hesitantly and sat up. He patted next to him and James actually followed his silent question and sat down. He wouldn’t meet Clint’s eyes and gave Clint the opportunity to study his profile. From this position, he looked even worse. His back was straight and tense and his gaze was empty. Clint wanted nothing more than to hug him tightly and promise him nothing bad would ever happen to him, again.

They sat there in silence, Clint’s hand itching, to touch James, to show him physical support somehow. 

Finally, James opened his mouth again.

“I dream, Clint,” he said. “When I’m awake, I know that I remembered. But I only remember in dreams. It’s all like some fucked up Déjà vu. As soon as I’m awake I forget them. Their faces, their voices, I just know that somewhere here,” he tips at his head. “Deep down here, I remember everything. But I don’t know _what_. It’s like I have more than one life to remember. Does that sound strange to you?” 

James looked truly afraid and Clint tried very hard to keep his face neutral. He still didn’t understand what James meant. But he didn’t want to ask any further because it looked like James would pass out, soon. Every word he said, had to be forced out. James had troubles speaking.

Clint took a deep breath and shook his head. James looked relieved.

“But why do you think, you’re bad, then? You just told me, you don’t remember them.”

James smile was cold and distant.

“No, I don’t remember _them_. I remember _it_.”

Okay, now he even made less sense.

“It?”

James looked down at his metal arm, clenching the hand into a fist.

“The echo,” James whispered. “The echo of it.” 

Clint followed his gaze which was still glued to the metal arm.

“I can describe you how the last breath of someone you’re choking sounds. I can tell you how easily you can take down an armored car while it’s driving. I can tell you how a 3000 ft. fall feels.” He finally looked up at Clint who didn’t know what to do with those statements. 

“How about the feeling of dying? Are you interested in that?” He asks with a hollow voice.

Clint sat up straighter and reached out to James. James watched his hands warily, flinched violently when Clint put them on his shoulders. Clint pulled and James slumped down, going willingly. He buried his face in Clint’s neck, shoulders shaking.

Clint cradled him close and soon felt tears dampen his skin.

“What am I?” James’ voice sounded broken.

“We’ll find out _who_ you are. But listen to me. You must listen to me, James. I am an expert in knowing people. And you are _not_ a bad person. Do you understand? You’re not.”

James’ whole body shook and he began crying earnestly. 

“You’re not.” Clint repeated.

Clint held him for hours, agonizing over the mystery that was James.

~+~

Clint gave James an old notebook his mother had given him decades ago.

James put it onto his bedside table and tried to write down everything he could remember after waking up.

James never wrote down names, places or dates.

The pages were full of pain descriptions and shooting a wide range of weapons.

~+~

Some nights, James didn’t dream. The days that followed those nights, were one of the best memories Clint ever made.

~+~

They didn’t talk about James’ memories much. Clint could practically feel how James resented them. 

But some nights, Clint awoke to a scream next door and he would meet James in the kitchen a few minutes later, coffee ready and let him talk about everything that came to James’ mind.

~+~

But then…

~+~

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve told me you had it under control. And now you tell me, the security breach was worse than you thought? And Wilson, Steve and _Nat_ had been kidnapped? How is that even possible?”

Clint couldn’t help it. At the end, he almost shrieked. Tony winced at his tone and had the decency to look sheepish. 

“I’m sorry, okay? They managed to disable J.A.R.V.I.S. for ten minutes with the help from some well-placed code two months ago. J couldn’t warn us and they came to the Christmas Gala, which by the way you’ve been invited.”

Clint shrugged. 

“I had better things to do.”

He grimaced when he thought about leaving James at the dinner table, their Christmas Eve food untouched after J.A.R.V.I.S. had overwritten Clint’s silent-mode phone and told Clint to come to NYC ASAP. Clint had told him to go fuck himself. J.A.R.V.I.S. had answered calmly that there had been an incident involving Natasha.

Clint went to grab his bag and bow immediately, shaking off James’ hand which had been on his shoulder. 

When he had reentered the kitchen, James had been sitting at the table alone, staring at the food sullenly. He had looked up at Clint, almost pleading. “Do you really have to go?” he had asked. “Can’t it wait? I was really looking forward to…” he trailed off when Clint grabbed his jacket and had opened the door.

“Clint, wait!” James had called. “What’s wrong?”

Clint turned around, already hearing the faint sound of the Quinjet (and when the hell did Tony upgrade that thing that it could be here so fast?).

“It’s Nat, I have to go. She’s in trouble.” Clint had said with panic in his voice. 

“She?” James had asked, face closing off.

“I’m sorry, man. But this is important. I’ll be back soon.”

Clint had rushed out without a further goodbye, leaving James in the kitchen, alone.

And now Tony was telling him, that fucking _Hydra_ had sent him a message that the Avengers should stop snooping around or else they would do horrible things to the trio.

“I don’t even know what these assclowns are talking about. I didn’t have the time to search for Hydras deepest secrets, god damn it. I’m still trying to do damage control with all the stuff Natasha had released about us. Hell, our dear leader told me now wasn’t the time. He said, he, Wilson and Natasha were handling it.”

Clint sighed.

“Apparently they couldn’t.”

“Well, duh.” 

Clint rubbed his hands over his face and tried not to explode. What the hell had Steve and Natasha been into? What hornet’s nest did they stir up? 

“So, what? Hydra crashes your gala, releases some fancy gas that can even knock out the Captain and when you wake up, all of them are gone?”

Tony just nodded and Clint downed the drink Tony offered him.

“Why did you call me? You do realize that they will be back in under a week? It’s Hydra, for fuck’s sake. Hell, you don’t even know what Nat did in Budapest to get out of some weird shit.” He ignored the fact that he himself had panicked when J.A.R.V.I.S. had told him something had happened to Nat.

But it was just Hydra. Hail Hydra, Clint’s ass. And she was with Steve and Wilson. Shit, he could kill Tony for making it sound so bad. 

“Otherwise you wouldn’t have come. You’re never here. What are you doing the whole time? Are you hiding a family or what?”

Clint bit his lip and put on his resting bitch face. 

“Ha, ha,” he said drily. “It’s none of your fucking business.” God, he wanted to go back to James. He fucking left him at the Christmas dinner. 

“I want to know what they are up to,” Tony interrupts his thoughts. “They won’t fucking tell me anything and I can’t even hack some files, because all they have are fucking paper files. So…I uh need you as a distraction rescue mission. I almost think they had seen it coming and let themselves be taken to fucking get into the base.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “No, they wouldn’t.”

“You sure about that?” Tony asked. “Anyways, we’re going in under the disguise of a rescue mission and while you’re playing the hero, I’ll get all of those fucking paper files and I will find out about what Rogers is after.”

“Did it ever occur to you that they don’t want you in for a reason?” Clint asked.

“Can’t be,” Tony shrugged and Clint rolled his eyes. 

“I’m going home,” he didn’t have time for Tony’s bullshit. “Do what you want, but without me. Call Banner, if you must. _He_ is a good distraction.” Clint turned but Tony’s voice stopped him.

“Yeah, you do that. God luck with that. I hear getting a train on Christmas Eve is a bitch.”

Clint clenched his hands into fists.

“Tell me, you didn’t.” he said, anger rising in him.

“Yes, I did. You can’t enter the Quinjet without me or J will blow you up.”

“ _I do apologize for Master Stark, Sir._ ” J.A.R.V.I.S.’ told Clint somewhere from the ceiling.

“God damn it, Tony. You’re an asshole!” Clint cursed loudly. He really didn’t want to do that. Playing decoy. He was too old for this shit.

“Why don’t we reserve the roles, at least?” Clint asked. “You’re hardly subtle with your suit.”

“Ah, don’t worry. I got it. I wanna play super-spy this time,” Tony grinned like a school boy and Clint made a frustrated sound. 

“Well, come on, then,” he hissed and made his way to the Quinjet with a cackling Tony in tow. Off to fucking Eastern Europe on Fucking Christmas.

“You need friends and a hobby,” Clint said as he threw himself into the pilot’s seat.

“You’re my friend. And my hobby is fake-rescuing my colleagues,” Tony said and began checking the control panels.

“Uh-huh,” Clint just grunted and three minutes later they took off. Clint still couldn’t believe he had let himself talk into this shit. But he dreaded the idea of public transport on Christmas. It would take him a fucking day to get back to James.

After they had reached the right flight level and the jet changed into Mach 3, Tony went into the back to take a nap.

Clint stared out in the night for a while, guilty thoughts haunting him.

 **CFB 9.56 p.m.:** _hey sorry I had to go. there was some kind of misunderstanding and well. Im on my way to europe now. its a long story. cant last longer than 48 hours. c u then. ~~I’ll miss you.~~._

There was no answer which Clint could understand. James hadn’t looked very happy when Clint had to go. And Clint knew James hadn’t slept well that night. Maybe he had wanted to talk to Clint after the dinner?

Fuck. 

He licked his lips nervously.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.? Can you, uh tell the number I last texted that I can’t answer right away, _if_ he texts back?” he asked the A.I. hours later when he was getting ready to land the jet. He had to turn the phone off, like he always did on a mission. 

“ _Of course, Sir. Anything else, Sir?_ ” the A.I. answered.

“Just…keep him updated, if something turns sour down there.”

“ _Very well, Sir._ ”

~+~

To say, Clint was surprised when he realized that the holy trio needed his and Tony’s help to get out of there, was an understatement. 

_This_ Hydra base was a whole new level.

~+~

Days later Clint was very glad that he at least told J.A.R.V.I.S. to tell James it could take longer than intended. 

Very, _very_ glad.

“Bring it on, bitch,” he smiled through bloody teeth when the newest _talent_ entered the cell, they had thrown him in.

God, he would fucking _kill_ Tony if he ever got out of this mess.

At least Nat was safe now. Her scared and troubled look when he had helped her and Wilson into the Quinjet haunted him in the nights when Hydra let him sleep for a few hours.

It was too bad Clint hadn’t made it into the Jet after them. 

But sacrificing yourself for your best friend was noble enough, Clint thought. 

_Shit happens,_ he thought grimly when the girl – she couldn’t be older than 16 – let out her claws.

What the fuck did Hydra do here?

He couldn’t help but think about James when the claws glinted silvery in the pale light of the cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I wish the Winter Soldier would help Clint getting out of there. Sadly, there's only James at the moment. But I can't wait to write the Winter Soldier someday.
> 
> Please remember that I love you all!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He just wants to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I couldn't hold up the Thursday schedule.
> 
> But Friday isn't that bad, eh?
> 
> And guys...you're all killing me with all the comments, kudos, bookmarks and love! 
> 
> If I could, I would invite all of you so we could have a nice party, watching cap 2 over and over again.

“Aren’t you a pretty one?” 

Clint did look up, but only to sneer at the man. “Ah, Baron Shitface,” he smiled wide, hiding a wince when the stretch of his lips yanked at his wounds. He could feel fresh blood well up in the corner of his mouth. He loathed the taste of blood in his mouth. Unfortunately, he had to live with that taste for about 11 weeks now. Okay, the 11 weeks were roughly estimated. It was hard keeping track of the time in that tiny cell they had thrown him in.

He also had the suspicion that he wasn’t in the same facility anymore. A few days after his _imprisonment_ (Clint bristled at that. _kind-of-failed-rescue-mission_ was more like it) they had drugged him for days and had definitely moved him. 

But fuck that.

He wanted to know why this German fuckface was here. Again.

It was the third time in a row; every day he had another story for Clint.

Promising Talents.

Picking up the Pieces of S.H.I.E.L.D. for the greater good.

Creating a better super-soldier serum.

“Is it bed time already? Are you gonna read me another story? I’m so excited.” Clint clapped his hands, putting on a mocking smile. 

Baron von Strucker chuckled lightly and sat down on the armchair, two of his minions had brought in. 

“Make yourself comfortable, Agent Barton.”

“I’m not an Agent anymore,” Clint interrupted him but the German only smiled fatherly. (Boy, did that rose his bile)

“You always will be one of our best, Agent,” the Baron said. “Hydra doesn’t forget. But let’s not talk about that now. We will come back to this later, I promise.”

Clint leaned back and closed his eyes, wishing he would fall asleep, but they would wake him up again, he knew that. (now.)

“Once upon a time,” Baron von Strucker began and Clint rolled his eyes. “Once upon a time, there was a perfect assassin. You wouldn’t believe what he did for us. For decades he was our best asset. Zero emotions. 100% accuracy. We never had someone like him again. Everyone was afraid of him. The best thing about him was that he was thoroughly Hydra.” This was told in a very dreamy voice as if he talked about the perfect son.

“What’s the story behind this? Am I going to meet him or what? Decades you say? I think I can take on a grandpa.” This guy sounded wrong. So very wrong. _No one_ in the business had a 100% accuracy. Hell, Nat had a 93%, he himself had been proud of his 90% years ago. 

The Baron continued talking as if Clint never had said anything. 

“Our own perfect super-soldier, I can tell you. And I’m afraid you cannot meet him. He..ah…found his end during the events in Washington. I’m sure you have heard of that.”

Clint barked a laugh. 

“Not so super then, huh?”

Baron von Strucker shook his head sadly.

“Oh, he was perfect. But his time had to come to an end after all. But worry not, Agent Barton. We have found a perfect replacement for him. You can guess it, can you not?”

Clint got a very bad feeling. His fights with this bunch of _talents_ did have a strange vibe. It sure had felt like he had been tested for something.

“Sorry, I have quit S.H.I.E.L.D.. I’m afraid you bunch of fucktards should go for some other idiot.”

He spit blood to the floor and got his body ready to fight. His guess was right because not a second later two goons entered the room and behind them a skinny girl followed. The Baron stood up and smiled this creepy smile again.

“You won’t have a say in that,” he told Clint. “But don’t worry about it now. In a few hours you will have nothing to worry about. Because you won’t remember.”

Sadly, Clint stood no chance against those two larger-than-hulk assclowns. As soon as Baron von Strucker left the cell, Clint could only land a few blows. They had him on the floor embarrassingly fast and Clint had trouble breathing when one of them pressed against his windpipe. The girl kneeled before him, looking down. She was very thin but beautiful nonetheless. She hold up her hands above his face and Clint panicked when he could feel the crackling energy between her hands and slowly something red started to float out of them. Even her eyes were starting to glow red.

It reminded Clint instantly of something else.

_You have heart._

No.

Not again. 

The red energy’s glowing became stronger and Clint put all his muscles against the two men holding him, but he couldn’t move an inch. 

“I will show you the worst,” the girl promised him with a heavy accent. Where the hell had they brought him, again?

“But I also will show you how you can escape from this. Just follow my lead.” 

And she put her hands to his temples.

Clint may or may not have screamed. 

He would never know because the second she had laid hands on him, a magnificent boom echoed through the walls, followed by a distant _roar_. Clint had never been happier to hear the Hulk in serious outage. 

Fucking finally.

The girl took her hands away from him and Clint was surprised do see a flash of fear in her face. 

She stood up. “We have to go,” she told the two men. “I need to get to my brother.”

“But we need to finish this first,” one of the men told her. “Baron von Strucker won’t be pleased.”

In the blink of an eye, she stood behind them, wiggled her fingers and they went down, instantly, gasping in terror. Clint couldn’t even about it because suddenly his cell door crashed open, _something_ clearly went past him and then the girl was gone and only Clint’s hair told him that something or someone just had rushed by. What the hell.

Groaning, he stood up. His head was swimming and he was pretty sure a few of his ribs had been cracked by the goons a few minutes ago. As soon as he stood, his nose started bleeding but he didn’t worry about it too much. The adrenaline came rushing in when he strained his ears to make out where his pick-up service was. There were a few more explosions but since he seemed to be very deep in the facility he guessed that he had to claw his way out by himself.

Shit.

Praying that he hadn’t gotten too rusty, he knocked out three Hydra agents who still stood guard at the end of the floor his cell was in and took one gun. His stomach twisted when he realized that they were finished Phase 2 S.H.I.E.L.D. weapons. He really hoped that someone thought of bringing him his bow and quiver. Before Hydra had captured him, he had at least managed to throw both of his beloved items to Tony. There hadn’t been time to check, if Tony had caught it. 

Aiming the gun, he fought himself four levels up until he reached the ground level and there, _finally_ , he caught a glimpse of a shining shield. 

Hell had broken lose up there. Hydra agents were swarming this level and he could see red hair in the middle of them. Cap was on the other side of the big hall and somewhere Clint could hear the whine of Iron Man’s repulsors. Clint took a deep breath and started to fight his way over to Natasha. She recognized him sometime around his twentieth dead agent and shot him a bloody grin. 

Clint felt his body more than he should. His reaction time was slower than normal and he was breathing more heavily than he should. He chose to ignore that and eventually the three of them and the rest of the Avengers had taken the whole facility out. 

At the end Clint was more lying than sitting next to a pile of bodies and Natasha was leaning against him.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed in his ear when Cap had gone outside to check on Banner, Wilson and Tony. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Clint said weakly. Shit, the urge to faint was unbearable.

His vision was swimming and when the whole team came back, he was a bit baffled when everyone hugged him and it was almost awkward how much Tony was apologizing. Cap and Wilson helped him stand up and Clint swayed dangerously. As soon as he stood straight, blood was welling out of his middle.

What the fuck.

And then he remembered a particular nasty blow, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Nothing had hit him but still…. Somehow, he had ended up on the floor.

Oh.

“Fuck, Clint.”

And the last thing he thought when he slowly became unconscious was:

_Language, Captain._

~+~

“круглый дурак.”

A small hand on his cheek, a kiss on his forehead.

~+~

“Wow, he looks bad.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate to say, Sam.”

“Well, he _does_ look like death warmed over.”

“Not helping.”

A few minutes of silence.

“Why are you reading the file again? We went over it a hundred times. There is no clue about his whereabouts.”

“Sam, he must be somewhere. I tell you. He looked afraid, I thought he would search for some clues or….you know…contact, but…”

A heavy sigh. 

“We’ll find him. Maybe we should let Barton in on it. Natasha told me he’s amazing in tracking down people.”

“No, he doesn’t want that. He’s still recovering from New York and the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. He’ll come when he wants a new mission.”

“If you say so, Cap.”

~+~

“I talked to the doctor. They’re doing their best. Tony said, Dr. Cho is doing her best to wrap up her business and coming here. I’m sorry I’m not that kind of doctor. I wish I could do more.”

~+~

Pacing.

Nervous fingers drumming on metal, on plastic, on glass.

Pacing.

Sitting down.

Standing up.

If Clint could move or roll his eyes, he would. Just to stop whoever was here.

“Barton, Clint…I’m so sorry. I really am. Shit, I shouldn’t have let us wander in there without more Intel gathering. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

 _Have you at least found what you were looking for?_ Clint wanted to ask.

“And I still haven’t a fucking idea what the three of them are looking for. Hell, I asked Rogers nicely and his whole face closed up, saying it was _personal_. Personal my ass. Anyway, he got what he wanted. I don’t fucking care what they do in their free time. I have a company to run. More or less. God bless Pepper. I’m not even a fucking agent or soldier. He wants to divide the business? He can have it. If he wants to talk, my counseling hours are every Thursday….”

Tony’s ranting lulled him back into sleep.

~+~

He woke several hours later. He still couldn’t open his eyes. Shit.

But hey, his pinky moved.

Awesome.

A door opened and closed.

“Hello, sweetheart. Just checking on you.”

Ah, the voice of the night shift nurse. That was his favorite time. No buzzing and other sounds violating his ears. He hated hospitals. 

The door opened again when the nurse checked his blood pressure.

“Mrs. Murray? There’s something wrong with the computer,” a young female voice said. “Could you help me, please?”

Nurse Murray grumbled and by the sound of scribbling and rustling of paper, Clint assumed that she wrote down his blood pressure results. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she told the girl and patted Clint’s arm.

“Everything is looking fine, my dear. You’ll wake up, soon,” she said to him. “I’ll give you something to ease your muscles and let you rest better.” A sharp needle poked him and a warm, fuzzy feeling was spreading out through his arm into his whole body. Clint sighed (wow! Sighing! The nurse was right. Maybe he would wake up, soon.) 

She left the room and Clint traced her footsteps with his ears. When the door opened, a computer was blaring and the nurse cursed a “what the fuck”, and started to run. Clint didn’t mind the chaos out there since he was feeling so warm and comfortable. He should ask for more of this stuff when he was fully awake. 

Drifting on the edge of sleep, he didn’t realize that there was someone else in his room until even his drugged mind convinced him that _someone_ was standing right next to him. Despite the medicine, his body was high alert and if he just could move a bit more…

Shit.

Someone was here.

Doing nothing. Just staring.

Clint just _knew_ that. 

Something cold touched his hand.

His heart rate monitor beeped in alarm.

Then a warm hand touched his forehead, stroking damp strands of hair away from it. Shit, he had begun sweating like crazy.

“Hello, Clint.”

Oh god. This couldn’t be. He was thousands of miles away.

Wasn’t he?

Fucking hell, the drugs were amazing. What a nice dream this was.

Metal fingers closed around his left hand and his heart rate normalized. 

The hand on his head massaged his scalp and Clint wished desperately that this wasn’t a dream.

“And I thought I was having a shitty time. Look at you. All beaten up. Security advising is a risky business, huh? I’m glad this friend of yours, J., told me you were here. I was so worried. I thought you’d left me. But I’ve had worse Christmases…I think.”

The hand in his hair stopped its movement and a little sigh was audible. The warm hand wandered to his cheek, something (maybe a thumb?) touched the corner of his mouth. 

“It’s time for you to come back. It’s kind of lonely at home. Who the fuck chooses to live in the middle of nowhere?”

A moment later it was getting darker behind his eyelids and both of the hands left his body and the places where they had been were tingling. The devices in his room whined but roared to life again, a few seconds later.

“That’s my cue. Gotta go.”

Clint didn’t hear any footsteps or the door. His mind floated between sleep and consciousness. 

A minute might have passed. Or a day, or even a week. He had no idea. But the next thing he was aware of was the ugly ceiling in his room and nurse Murray blinding him with a light.

“Hello, Sweetheart. Did the alarm wake you?” she asked and pressed the button for the doctor. “I’m sorry about that. We had a computer system problem and then a small power loss. The yelling might have woken you. I hoped you would sleep for another few hours.”

Clint coughed and winced when his abdomen took offence at that. 

She helped him with a cup of water and Clint asked if he had a visitor. 

“Of course you had!” she told him happily. “They all took turns in visiting you. Mr. Stark left four hours ago when the visiting hours ended.

“Oh.” Clint said. “Okay.”

Huh. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been Tony’s voice. Or maybe it was? Everything was blurry. 

Groaning, he rubbed his head.

Of course he would dream of _him_. Why wouldn’t he? He _had been_ homesick during his whole luxury stay in Eastern Europe. He had never been homesick before, never mind the shit he had been in, during a mission.

“I want to go home,” he definitely didn’t whine.

“Soon, sweetheart.”

~+~

Of fucking course they took him to the Avengers Tower first. The whole team insisted that he should wait for Dr. Cho in the tower.

“I’m fine!” Clint growled every time someone brought him tea or wanted to stuff him with favorite pizza. “I just wanna go home.”

Even J.A.R.V.I.S. didn’t let him out of the tower.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he told Clint when he wanted to escape through the vents and received a small electric shock for the try. “The Avengers don’t want you to recover alone.”

“Traitor,” Clint hissed, rubbing his hand where the shock had hit him. 

~+~

Five days after his release from the hospital, Dr. Cho finally landed on the Avengers Tower and patched Clint up with this creepy but efficient technology of hers and cleared him for active duty.

“Active duty, my ass,” Clint said, standing in front of the assembled company.

“Could you all just leave me alone for a while, yes? I told you I’m not mad I got captured,” he looked at Tony and Nat. “Shit happens,” he shrugged. 

“Don’t coddle me, for fuck’s sake. You three,” he looked at the holy trio. “Do your business. We don’t have to solve every shit that turns up. And you,” he looked at Tony again, “just run your damn company and trace Hydra or some shit. I don’t think they’ll have a new course of action anytime, soon. They’re planning something. I’ll tell J. everything I heard. Maybe you can find a pattern. But they aren’t as strong as they were before the Washington fuck-up. Strucker told me they just lost a major asset. Someone like a super sayan or some shit.”

The cup of coffee in Steve’s hand broke. Clint raised an eyebrow at him. “I know, right? That guy had to be super creepy. But he’s dead anyway. That’s why Strucker wanted to…ah…he’s searching for a replacement.”

Stunned silence.

“And you,” he nodded at Banner. “Go, take some time off. Just because Tony can go on for days without sleeping doesn’t mean you can do that too. You’re looking a little green, doc. Whatever you two play with in the night shifts, just stop it for a while. There’s probably more important stuff to do.”

Clint sighed heavily and took his bow (not a scratch, thank fucking god) and bag. 

They all looked at him speechless.

Yeah, Clint hadn’t been _that_ talkative recently.

He shot them a genuine smile and the tension left the room.

“And thanks for saving my ass, I appreciate that. But let’s just take some time off the Avengers business. I know that might sound crazy but we do have a life outside of death, missions and aliens.”

He saluted them and started walking to the elevator.

The last thing he heard before the elevator doors closed was Tony, asking Nat:

“Why is he always so keen about going home? Who the hell does he fuck there? And here I thought, he had a cozy home with a white picket fence with you, somewhere, raising super-spy-babies. OW!”

Clint snorted and winked at Nat.

“To the hangar, please, J.” he told J.A.R.V.I.S..

~+~

Despite it being March, Clint had to stomp his way through a layer of snow. 

When the farm came into his view, his heart skipped a beat at seeing smoke rising from the chimney. 12 weeks and James was still here.

A smile spread over Clint’s face and when he passed the green house he was impressed that many greens were blossoming inside. 

When he stood in front of the door he hesitated. Sure, it was his home but something was preventing him from entering. He realized that he was nervous. He even had sweaty palms. Shit. How would he explain himself? Maybe he should stop with the bullshitting and tell James everything. Hell, back in the cell, James had been the only thing he had been thinking about. 

But he didn’t want to lose him. 

Who would want to live with the infamous Hawkeye?

Slayer of good S.H.I.E.L.D.-Agents.

Responsible for the alien gateway.

A dumb person incapable of rescuing his best friend.

Incapable of loving.

Incapable of getting the serious shit done.

Incapable of-

“Are you coming in, or what?”

There he stood.

In all his glory. 

Grey sweat pants, grey sweater.

His hair in a messy bun. Cookbook in the metal hand, ladle in the other. 

He was gorgeous. 

Clint gaped at him, wanting to say something. Anything. 

James stared him down for a moment but then smiled that sweet smile that was almost a smirk.

“Took you long enough,” he simply said, took a step forward into the snow and hugged Clint.

And fuck, did that feel good.

Clint buried his face in James’ neck, breathing deeply. 

_Home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are prompts still a thing? I'm in the mood for writing some shorts but I lack creativity atm. If you want to prompt me, feel free to visit my tumblr. 
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL!
> 
> And yes, the next chapter will feature Bucky and Clint only, yay!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic Bliss Extraordinaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have no idea how effing happy I am with all your kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions. I would have never guessed that so many of you would like this...never.
> 
> And sorry if I don't have answered all comments. I've read them all but I've been too busy for answering, sorry!!

  
And if I recover,   
will you be my comfort ?   
or it can be over   
or we can just leave it here   
\- [CHVRCHES - Recover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JyqemIbjcfg)  


**Part 2.5 – James**

Clint looks like shit. Despite telling him that he feels great, he doesn’t look healed at all. James helps him over the doorstep and half carries him to the kitchen table where Clint can sit down slowly. He looks exhausted and he is so _pale_. James hates it. He has missed Clint a great deal and had been so happy when the mysterious J., who claims to be Clint’s friend, texted him that Clint was back in the States, and being treated at a hospital in NYC. James had been so worried that he had hauled himself in Clint’s car to make sure that Clint was well.

(He had avoided all cameras and visited in the night. ~~He doesn’t want to be found.~~ )

Clint had been high on drugs and James had left after only a few minutes. He drove home for two days, without any sleep, just thankful that Clint was alive and well – more or less.

The weeks without Clint…James doesn’t want to think about that anymore. 

But now Clint is here again and James will do everything he can, to ensure he will stay safe and healthy.

“I do hope you won’t rush back to New York, anytime soon,” he says, reaching for a glass to fill it with water. 

Clint snorts, his head resting on his arms. 

“Not a chance. I don’t want to do this shit anymore. They are all working separately anyway. A fucking team we are,” he mumbles into his arm and James does not point out that Clint has never mentioned a “team” before. 

He lets it slide and opens the fridge.

“Hey, Clint?”

Clint’s answer is a grunt.

“What’s your favorite food?”

Clint thinks for a moment and then smirks.

“Beef Wellington,” he says. 

James raises an eyebrow. 

“Where the hell have you eaten that? Isn’t that expensive as shit?”

“Weeeell,” Clint says smugly. “I know a rich guy. He treated us to some Beef Wellington a year or so ago when we were in London. I never had a better foodgasm. Never had it again, though. Best food ever, dude.”

James chuckles. “You’re a punk,” he tells him. 

“How about lasagna?” Clint asks. “I like your lasagna.”

“Lasagna it is,” James smiles and fishes out the ingredients. Clint is nursing his water and keeps very quiet. James doesn’t like it a bit.

“You wanna tell me what happened to you?” he asks him, turning the knob to preheat the oven. Clint sighs and shrugs. “You don’t want to know it, trust me. I’ve had worse, but…it was kind of a science facility. Uh, and…” he is silent for a minute. James lets him think and prepares the cheese. Quieter than before, Clint continues, “I don’t know what to say about it. There were kids, James. Kids. Real messed up kids. I think they kind of experimented on them. They could do incredible things. But they used it wrong and…no, I don’t want to talk about it.” He clearly doesn’t want to.

Something unpleasant curls up in James’ body at the mentioning of a science facility and experimenting on humans. He stores it away like everything else that pops up in his head from time to time and continues preparing the food. 

“If you want to, I’m here, alright?” he tells him and squeezes Clint’s shoulder. Clint nods and lays his hand on James’, giving him a shy smile. James smiles back.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he tells Clint honestly and drops a kiss on Clint’s head. Clint shivers and James hides his grin. “How about you go in the living room? You won’t believe how many shit shows went on air during your absence.”

“I can help you with the food,” Clint says lamely and James snorts.

“Yeah, right. We both know I can cook way better than you. Now, shoo. I don’t need your help.”

Clint grins and leaves the kitchen.

When he comes to the living room half an hour later, two steaming plates in his hands, Clint is curled up on the couch and zapping through the channels. 

“-rnes, the Captain’s best friend died in a fatal accident,” the TV says as he enters the room.

“Good god, Barton. A documentary? What’s wrong with you?” James complains and Clint laughs, changing to another channel. 

“I wasn’t watching it, chill your balls. I’m searching for something nice. But there’s nothing on,” he whines and then spots the plates in James’ hands. “Gimme, gimme. I’m starving!” he makes grabby hands and James huffs and sits down next to him. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Clint’s response is a groan because of the lasagna and James grins into his own food. 

He really _is_ happy. Now that Clint is back again.  
~+~

They are sitting in the green house, taking a break from planting strawberry seedlings, sharing an ice-cold beer.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Clint starts after a while.

“Wow, your head must hurt,” James comments and Clint elbows him with a dry “haha”. 

“No, really. You still don’t know who you are, right? But we gotta get you a fake ID. And a couple of your own credit cards and some stuff.” Clint looks almost shy. It’s adorable how his face reddens slightly, especially prominent under the newest Band-Aid on his cheek. 

“You think I need that?” James asks, nursing the beer thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, I think so. What if I don’t come back someday? Or are you just going to wander off, then?” Clint asks and James grips the bottle hard. “Don’t say that, Barton.”

Clint shrugs and leans a bit more against him.

“All jesting aside, it’s no problem for me to get you this stuff, hell I’m going to do it myself. I once forged a passport with a shitty disposable camera in a shitty hotel. Good old times…. Anyway, I just want to know what you want to have for your birthday. Or how you want to be called by your last name. Any new memories on that?”

James bits his lip and sighs. “Not a thing. What day is today? April 15th? Then make it April 15th. I don’t care.”

“How old are you anyway? Are you even 30, yet?” Clint lips twitch and James rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I have reached the big 3-0 ages ago.”

_~~Ages~~_ indeed.

“If you say so,” Clint sing-songs, stealing the beer away, taking a sip for himself. “What about the last name, though?”

_James B. James B. B._

“Something with B,” James says. “How about Barton?”

Clint chokes on the beer and gapes at him. “Are you serious? Don’t make this a joke, James.” Clint is definitely blushing now. 

“This ain’t a joke, man,” James assures him. “It fits, don’t you think? Just name me ‘Barton’, alright? We can be brothers or something.”

Clint mumbles something that sounds like _or something…right_ and jumps to his feet again. “We should plant the last seedlings and then move outside.” It’s adorable how he won’t meet James’ eyes and crouches down to the strawberries, digging into the dirt with a burning red neck. 

Why is he so embarrassed about it? Living with Clint feels like home. And Clint _is_ family. He is the only thing he has. James smiles at Clint fondly when he finally meets his eyes. Clint huffs and throws a bit dirt in his direction. “Get your lazy ass up. You’re the one who wants to bake strawberry pie with strawberries, which and I quote you right here ‘don’t taste like shit and water’.”

James grins and gets up. “It’s true. I may not remember much but I do remember that those strawberries out of the store taste like ass.”

“And you know anything about how ass is tasting, huh?” Clint mutters. James just raises an eyebrow at that and crouches down to help him, bumping their shoulders together.

~+~

_He feels strange. His head hurts. His mission is completed but nobody has come to collect him. He walks through the facility, blood on his hands and in his hair. The mission had been a success. Get in, find the targets, and kill the targets. It had been a bit messy but that had been expected. Purges are messy, after all. The executive floor hadn’t been happy with the current management of the facility, so he had been activated._

_Walking through the floors, he holds his head. Pain is something he hadn’t felt for a long time._

_He stops when he hears something at the far end of the floor. He releases the safety catch of his gun and creeps through the shadows. When he reaches the end of the floor he realizes what the sound had been._

_A girl._

_Maybe six or seven years old. Red hair. She’s in the facility issued pajamas, just sitting there in the dark and looking first at him and then at his raised weapon. The embroidered name on her pajama says ‘Natalia A. R.’. When her eyes roam over the blood on his hands, she doesn’t even flinch. She’s been raised well, already._

_If it hadn’t been for the newly discovered _feelings_ in him, he would have killed her on the spot. But something hinders him._

_They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. The he hears the faint sound of the chopper._

_They are finally coming for him._

_He pockets his gun again and leaves the girl. She doesn’t move an inch._

James wakes up with a silent cry on his lips. 

He sits up and bites his right arm to muffle his scream. He doesn’t want to remember. Every little bit he remembers _hurts_.

~+~

“I just want you to know that you’re a disgusting human being,” James watches with horror as Clint packs one box of Pop-Tarts after another into the shopping cart. Clint lets the last box (Brown Sugar Cinnamon) fall into the cart and grins at him broadly. 

“You just have not taste, James,” Clint answers. “You’re the only guy in the world who hates Pop-Tarts. For that crime alone I should throw you out.”

He pushes the car in the direction of the next aisle and James follows him, adjusting his baseball cap with his right hand. His left hand is in the pocket of his grey hoodie. James still doesn’t like to be seen and if Clint notices that James tends to avoid security cameras, he doesn’t comment on it. 

The next half an hour they spend bickering about the pros and cons about green vegetables and Twinkies (usually James wins this one, he never cooks without anything healthy and Twinkies are just to die for) and after they deposit their shopping bags, Clint suggests buying pizza to eat on the way back and James nods enthusiastically. Pizza is always a win. 

Clint doesn’t know the town well because he only goes here for shopping and the mail office but after some walking around they find a place in a shadier area of the town. Clint loses his shit when they pass a cute dog who is chained in front of an apartment building and barking at them happily.

“Clint, it’s just a dog, can we please continue walking?” James asks, rolling his eyes fondly. Clint looks up from where he is crouched in front of the dog, cuddling him. 

“Hush you,” Clint says happily when the dog licks his face. 

It takes full five minutes to get Clint away from the dog and when they leave, James can’t say who is whining louder – the dog or Clint. 

They get two boxes of pizza after they find a place not far away from the street where the dog had been sitting and take the same route back. The dog whimpers when they pass him again and James can practically hear the dog’s stomach growl. Clint doesn’t think twice and feeds the dog a few slices of pizza. It’s heartbreaking how the dog devours the pizza as if he had nothing to eat for days.

“Hey, what are you doing there, bro?” A voice suddenly calls out and Clint gets grabbed by his collar, away from the dog. A few wannabe gangsters have stepped out of the apartment building. One unleashes the dog and punches him square on the head. The dog cries out and Clint hits the guy, who holds him, in the face. 

“Get off me, man,” he hisses and wants to get to the dog. In the blink of an eye a few more thugs exit the building and it’s on. They aren’t a challenge for James and metal arm _itches_. It wants to be used in a good ~~cruel~~ way. But before that _some ~~one~~ thing_ can come out and play, Clint’s scream snaps James out of whatever he had wanted to do and he spots Clint in the middle of the street, in front of an car and holding the dog.

“Who the fuck throws a dog into traffic?” Clint rages and lifts the passed out dog up.

“Go, help him. I’ll deal with this scum,” James says. Clint just nods and takes out his phone.

“J, where’s the next veterinarian clinic? I’m in-,“ James hears Clint say but then blends him out to concentrate on the last two guys standing. They look at the pile of unconscious bodies at his feet and hold their hands up. “Don’t get mad, bro.”

“It’s too late for that,” James cocks a grin, clenches his metal hand to a fist and feels _murderous_.

~+~

Half an hour later he finds the veterinarian clinic, where Clint had brought the dog, and sits next to Clint in the waiting area. Clint is tapping his foot nervously and asks about the guys.

“They’ve been taken care of,” James shrugs. “They are all Russians, illegally in the States. Did you know I’m fluent in Russian?” he smirks and Clint chuckles weakly.

“You’re full of surprises,” he says.

“That I am. And they were so _nice_ to me when I asked them if you could have the dog. ‘Yes, of course,’ they said to me. ‘Everything you want.’ Pathetic.”

Clint perks up at that. “I can keep him?” and he looks so hopeful that James has to laugh at that.

“You’re a grown-ass man, Barton. I just made sure that the dog doesn’t have to go back to them. And you’re halfway in love with him, anyway, so….I handled it.”

“But you didn’t kill them. That would be a hell of clean-up,” Clint says jokingly and James winces.

“No, I didn’t.” ( ~~But he had wanted to. For a few seconds he had had the urge to crush their heads with his bare hands.~~ )

They wait for another half an hour or so until Clint can finally go with the veterinarian to see the dog.

He comes back ten minutes later, carrying a heavily bandaged and groggy dog. The soft smile Clint has for the dog does funny things to James’ heart.

He clears his throat and stands up, walking to Clint to inspect the dog with the golden but dirty fur, and now with only one eye left.

“So, he’s survived? Lucky dog,” he pats one big paw and smiles himself when the tail of the dog starts to waggle immediately.

Clint beams at him.

“Lucky, indeed,” he says and they leave the clinic.

~+~

_  
“…Howard and Maria. In this case you can’t take the direct approach. It has to be subtle. It has to look like an accident. Understood?”_

_He looks at the picture of the old man and his much younger wife. His gaze lingers on the man a second longer. It feels like he has to remember something but he shoves that away quickly. Abort. Abort. This doesn’t have anything to do with the mission._

_“Yes, sir. Consider it done.”_

James wakes on the living room couch, covered in sweat and a snoring dog draped over him. 

Shit.

His dreams are so vivid. He has the feeling that he can’t bury his memories any longer. They will be all recovered, soon. 

James buries his face in Lucky’s fur. The dog wakes when his tears start to dampen the golden fur. 

He doesn’t want to remember any more. The more he remembers, the more everything makes sense and _doesn’t_ make sense. 

God, ~~who~~ what the fuck had he been?

~+~

“Here.”

James looks up from his book (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix – intense, man) and Clint presents him a perfectly forged ID and a passport of one _James Nathaniel Barton, born on April 15th, 1983_ and two credit cards.

“Wow, thank you,” James had almost forgotten about that. He eyes the credit cards and bits his lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s too much. I mean, I haven’t paid you a thing back and, oh god, I have to find some kind of job,” he realized all of the sudden and Clint barks a laugh at that.

“Dude,” he says. “Have you looked at my house and my garden? It’s _our’s_ now. _You_ made that happen. I don’t know what I would do without you. Seriously.”

There was it again – the adorable blush. 

Clint puts his hands into his pockets and shuffles his feet. He coughs and bravely meets his eyes. 

“What I am trying to say,” Clint sighs. “I am very happy that you’re here with me and…that I found you. Or should I say, you found me.”

James’ heart swells at the words and he can feel his own cheeks redden.

Shit.

He doesn’t deserve any of that.

Nothing.

He should be locked up somewhere. 

He should. He should. He should.

Fuck it.

James stands up and pulls Clint into his arms. Clint goes willingly. James buries his nose in Clint’s hair and closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” he breathes. Clint clutches his T-Shirt James can feel him smile against his skin. 

~+~

_”Wipe him.”_

~+~

One evening, when they are sitting on the porch, Clint tells him about the darkest days of his life. He tells him about being mind-controlled and being responsible for the death of 26 colleagues. He tells him about aliens (you’re fucking with me, Barton!) and a group of remarkable people. He doesn’t tell James any names but James has the feeling he wants to.

When Clint has finished his story, his cheeks are wet and his hands tremble slightly.

James takes both of Clint’s hands in his, kisses the knuckles and keeps silent.

~+~

He comes back from a long walk with Lucky on a warm evening in August when Clint stands in the kitchen, packed bow and big bag, clearly waiting for him. 

James sighs internally. He knew the day would come again. At least, Clint had been at home for five months. He rubs Lucky’s dirty paws clean with an old towel (the damned dog just loves mud and puddles).

“You got a mission?” he asks Clint who gets tackled by Lucky as soon as James releases him.

Clint runs his fingers through the thick fur and leans down to hug the dog. 

“Yeah, kind of,” Clint tells him when Lucky runs off to his water bowl. “Three of my colleagues are going to travel around for a while and Sta- uh- we’re going to be a bit understaffed in NYC for a few months, so…” 

James’ heart thinks. A few months? Again?

“Oh, okay,” he says and they’re standing in front of each other awkwardly.

“I don’t want to go, but I have to. It’s been a while, you see…” Clint mutters and James tries to smile. 

“I understand. Saving the world and stuff,” he tries to joke and Clint huffs.

“You have no idea.”

A faint whine is audible and Lucky snarls at the sound.

“That’s my ride,” Clint says, shouldering his stuff. “I’ll have a lot of down time. We will call each other, right?” he asks James hopefully and James smiles at him.

“Of course. Just don’t get kidnapped again, yeah?”

Clint grins.

“I’ll try.”

James wants to take his bag but Clint won’t have that. “I’m a grown man, James. I can carry that myself,” he rolls his eyes.

James shrugs and grins. “I’m just trying to be a gentleman,” he explains and Clint laughs at that.

“Whatever. Uh….okay, bye then,” he hugs James quickly and it’s _not enough_.

And then he leaves. Again.

But he will come back. And they will talk. On the phone. And he’ll have Lucky here. It’s going to be alright. 

It has to be.

~~What if his suppressed memories will drive him mad?~~

James bites his lips. 

Shit, he misses Clint already. He had gotten so accustomed to this life they had this last months. This companionable friendship.

He groans at the thought and suddenly jumps into action. He runs out of the door and up the small hill where an impressive jet is standing. Clint is already on the gangway and James is afraid that Clint won’t hear him over the sound of the jet. He calls for him anyway.

Clint does hear him.

He turns around, looking at him questioningly. He jumps on the ground again and meets James halfway.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in a worried tone.

“I just forgot to give you something,” James says, leaning into Clint’s personal space.

“Give me something?” Clint repeats and almost squints to look at James’ face, which is so near now.

“Yup,” James says and closes the last distance between them. Clint’s lips feel dry, a little chapped and _perfect_. 

Clint’s lips escape a small ‘oh’ and then they curve into a smile. 

The kiss ends too soon but a voice that sounds like Clint’s friend J. comes from the jet’s speakers, reminding Clint to come on board, he has to hurry.

Clint looks at him with a dumbfounded expression and James grins so wide, his cheeks hurt.

“For good luck,” he tells Clint and starts to turn around. “Call me in the evening, yeah?” 

He starts to go down the hill but stops when the jet takes off. He watches the jet fly away, still smiling.

His heart feels like it is about to burst.

It feels awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who can guess which movie I've watched while writing most of the chapter, gets an enormous cookie.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skype calls are life savers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, dialogues are a bitch.

**Part 3 – Clinton**

“What? They couldn’t wait?” Clint complained when he found Tony in his workshop. Tony was elbow-deep in one of his suits and shrugged.

“No, they have their own private undercover mission and wanted to fly commercial for that. And since we are a bit understaffed now, we need the Quinjet,” he said and Clint huffed, annoyed that he couldn’t say good-bye. It’s not like he hadn’t seen them for five months. 

Tony yanked his hands out of the suit and smiled at Clint. “Let them be,” he said. “They think they are a separate Avengers team now. And maybe they are,” he took a sip of (judging by the grimace) apparently cold coffee and patted Clint on the shoulder. “Welcome back, by the way. Did you enjoy your long break?”

Clint’s thoughts were immediately with James and Lucky and their life on the farm and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It was great.”

Tony chuckled and told J.A.R.V.I.S. to shut everything down. “That’s good. Well-deserved down-time after the shit you’ve been through.”

Clint grinned, stepping into the private elevator with Tony. “I’ve had worse,” he said and Tony activated the direct-to-the-penthouse-button with his fingerprint.

“You hungry?” Tony asked and Clint leaned against the elevator, his stomach lurching a bit when the elevator went up fast. “I could eat. Is Thor here?”

Tony shook his head. “No, nobody has heard of him since the London fiasco. Maybe he’s just taking a bit down time like you. But I told J. to send him a message that we could use a demigod for the next months. Rogers told me that they want to hunt something around the world. They will be gone for two months at least.” 

They reached the communal floor and picked out some leftovers out of the fridge. Tony babbled about some idea he tinkered on with Bruce, who was in India right now, but Clint more or less tuned him out. His lips prickled, and it wasn’t from the soda he was sipping. He still couldn’t get over the fact that James had kissed him good-bye. He had _kissed_ him. Clint touched his lips and smiled. Sure, he had thought about it once or twice (or every breathing second) but he hadn’t had the balls to actually do something about it. And then James had come and had swept Clint off the feet. 

But he did have the worst timing. Seriously. If it hadn’t been for the reason that he actually _was_ an Avenger (and it was his duty to represent the Avengers together with Tony while the others were away), he would have grabbed James and … and … .

“Katniss! Ey, Katniss! Are you even listening to me?” Tony interrupted his thoughts and Clint came back to reality, shrugged and smirked.

“Not, really. Sorry, dude. Too much science shit. You must have confused me with your science-boyfriend,” he said and Tony groaned, picking at his food. “Unfortunately, you’re still you, Barton.”

Clint snorted and asked about a fancy set of new arrows, instead. Tony had promised him those months ago. Tony’s eyes lit up at the question and he told J. to upload the schematics. One second later, a hologram hovered between them, showing a dismantled arrow. Clint was genuinely interested in every one of them and asked many questions, some of them even surprised Tony when they were very theoretical. Tony looked impressed and soon his answers went very specific; fortunately for Clint, he could keep up.

When the lights above their heads lit up automatically, Clint realized how long they have been talking. As soon as he didn’t think about the arrows anymore, his mind was with James, again. He wanted to talk to him, _see_ him. Now. 

“Well, I can’t wait to test them. But for now I’m gonna call it a day,” he said and Tony looked at a loss for a moment, what with being interrupted. He blinked and then shrugged. “Uh, yeah. Okay. See you tomorrow, I guess.”

Clint nodded and stood up, patting Tony on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, man. Don’t overwork yourself. J., lock him out of the workshop when he’s still awake at 2 a.m..”

“Very well, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said amused. Tony only grumbled.

Clint chuckled and made his way to his floor. He went directly to the bedroom. “J. could you project a screen on the window, please? And I request the private mode, uh,” he thought for a moment. “B-10-7-F-C-679.” Who would have thought that the day would come when he would have to use the code. 

“Access to private mode granted,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said and a screen lit up on the window. “I’m going to be available for you outside of the bedroom. Good night, Sir.”

“G’night, buddy,” Clint said and J.A.R.V.I.S. fell silent immediately. 

He went to the window and touched the screen which projected his phone contacts. He pressed _James :3_ and nervously tried to straighten his hair which stood up in all directions. Crap. He looked like shit. Fuck. Ah, disconnect, disconnect – 

“ _Holy shit, what is it with that bedroom? It’s huge._ ”

James had appeared on the screen. He was sitting shirtless (shirtless! Fuck, breathe.) at the kitchen table and eating nachos. 

“Aww, c’mon. Nachos?” Clint whined. James’ Nachos were the best. His cheese sauce was from another time, definitely. It tasted so old-school and homey. Clint loved them. Of course the nachos were the only reason why his mouth was watering. James stretched his back across the back of the chair and Clint had to avert his eyes. Jesus fucking Christ. What was wrong with him? One teeny-weeny kiss couldn’t have thrown him _that_ out of balance, couldn’t it? Apparently, it could. 

“Why are you shirtless?” There. That had sounded almost normal. 

“ _Because it’s fucking hot. And Lucky made a mess out of my shirt when he helped me digging the strawberries out. Why are you asking? Is it bothering you?_ ” He smirked.

That smirk should be forbidden. 

“No,” he squeaked. Smooth, Barton.

“ _Are you thinking about the kiss?_ ”

“No!” Clint sputtered and James raised an eyebrow. Clint cowered before his unimpressed glare.

“Yes,” Clint finally sighed and James looked smug.

“ _Good,_ ” he said. “ _How’s New York?_ ”

Clint was thankful for the change of topic and shrugged. “Lame,” he said. “Kind of lonely. This apartment is too big for one person. My –uhm, landlord went a bit overboard with the design.”

“ _Yeah, I can see that. Wanna give me the grand tour? Where are you standing anyway? Your laptop his here and you aren’t holding your phone._ ”

“It’s also a little bit high-techy. That’s all I’m going to say, sorry. And I can’t give you the tour because of reasons,” he winced. Ugh, that sounded so stupid. But he didn’t want to have J.A.R.V.I.S. scan his call as soon as he went out of the bedroom door. Not yet.

James rolled his eyes and huffed. A happy _woof_ distracted him and then the screen was full of Lucky, trying to get on the table to lick James’ phone. Clint’s heart warmed at the sight of both of them (“ _Lucky, no! Stay down. No, ugh, don’t lick my face._ ”) and he grinned so wide, his cheeks hurt. Eventually, James had to use his metal arm to get Lucky off him and the table. Lucky whined but then seemed to settle next to James’ chair. 

“ _Your dog has no manners_ ,” James lamented and Clint was having none of that. 

“ _My_ dog? Excuse me? Last I looked, you were the one who fed him things from the table.”

James made a dramatic “Who me?” gesture and smiled when Clint laughed at that.

“You’re an idiot,” Clint decided then and there and James just shrugged. “ _You have to be one, to know one._ ”

They fell into easy banter after that and hours later Clint was falling asleep with a big smile on his face.

~+~

“ _What the hell did you do now?”_ came the disapproving voice while Clint was sitting on his bed, frowning at the wound on his stomach. It had bled like crazy before but Banner had stitched him back up. Now it only hurt. He looked to the left where James’ face was hovering on the window screens and shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”

James scowled. 

“ _You’re getting hurt more often. Are you being reckless?_ ”

Clint was silent for a beat, thinking about how jumping from a building could count as reckless.

“No,” he then said but it sounded more like a question than a straight answer. James just sighed at that. They had been skyping for over a month now and Clint’s heart ached for James. He wanted to be near him, to touch him, _kiss_ him. But every superhero but Tony and Clint (and sometimes Banner) in New York seemed to be on vacation these days. Well, Hell’s Kitchen was relatively quiet. Clint hadn’t had the pleasure to meet the Devil yet, but he was looking forward to it. Hence, no visiting James, not even for a day. James didn’t complain but Clint could see in his eyes that he missed him, too. 

“ _You’re an idiot, Barton. Please don’t die. Lucky would be very upset._ ”

“Only Lucky?” Clint asked and smiled his most charming smile. James huffed and blushed a tiny bit. Clint counted that as a win. James cleared his throat and changed the topic to the cherry pie recipe he had found in an old cooking book, which he had bought a while ago.

Clint let him change the topic and complained loudly that he couldn’t be there to taste the pie. 

~+~

“ _So, I finally watched **Blade Runner**._ ”

Clint perked up at that. “Fucking finally,” he said and peeled himself out of the Hawkeye uniform. He was sweaty and dirty and had to work together with Deadpool. That was an experience he never wanted to have again. Gross. James didn’t answer right away and after Clint was just in his underwear, there was something like a choking sound coming from the windows. Clint looked up and asked what’s wrong.

“ _Nothing….so uh…Blade Runner. Amazing. Why didn’t you tell me about it sooner?_ ”

Clint snorted and dumped the uniform in the hamper. “It’s a cultural heritage. You didn’t tell me that you don’t know this masterpiece.”

“ _Uh…amnesia, remember?_ ”

“Yeah, well….whatever.” Clint rubbed his warm neck and sighed. “I need a shower. I have to wash grime and spit off my face.” He shuddered when he remembered the wet kiss, Deadpool had planted on his lips as sick form of good-bye. 

“ _Spit?_ ”

“You don’t want to know. Let me tell you, your kiss was way better.” Ah shit. Again, no brain-to-mouth-filter. Before James could answer that, Clint mumbled a “Talk to you later, bye” and disconnected the call. 

~+~

“You look like shit. You haven’t been sleeping well, haven’t you?”

“ _Hmhm…nightmares._ ”

“Memories?”

“ _You could say that._ ”

“Do you remember them?”

_Call disconnected. James :3 offline._

~+~

“ _I think I have to do something._ ”

“Like what?”

“ _I don’t think I can tell you that._ ”

“That’s bullshit.”

“ _Yeah, well. How about **you** tell me about what you actually do in NYC?_ ”

“That’s different!” Clint sputtered.

“ _I don’t think so._ ”

~+~

Clint bit his lip, twirling an arrow between his fingers. He loved every minute of their skype calls but the calls were James looked absolutely devastated or just plain defeated were becoming more frequent. Some nights, Clint would get a message from James, asking if they could skype. Those calls were the hardest for Clint, since he couldn’t just go to James to comfort him. New York was a madhouse nowadays and Clint was thankful if he could catch a breath in between. More often than not, James would just sit there in bed, holding his phone up, but staring into nothing. At those times, Clint did his best to cheer him up, but failed miserably.

Clint sighed and let the wind breeze through his hair. He was sitting on the edge of the Iron Man landing pad, alone. Tony was 20 floors down in a business meeting. Clint had gone outside to clear his head. Letting his legs swing, he tried to recall everything from the skype call, they had had two days ago. James had been restless and Clint had known something was up when James had gotten angry with Lucky for simply barking at some squirrel outside the window. 

“James, what’s _wrong_?” he had asked James urgently. James had just pressed his normal hand on his metal arm as if he had tried to hold the metal arm in place. He had looked like he was refraining himself from trashing the kitchen.

When James had looked at him with those sad, empty eyes, Clint’s breath had hitched. For a moment he had looked exactly like the lonely man, he had found outside his house over a year ago. 

“Fuck it. I’m coming to you,” Clint had said, but James’ panicked “NO” let him freeze. 

“ _No, please, Clint. It’s…not safe._ ” Clint almost hadn’t understood the last words. 

“What?” he asked dumbly. “What do you mean?”

James had hesitated for a moment, then had said, “ _ **I** am not safe. Please don’t try to reach me, Clint. I…I’ve got to figure something out._ ” After that he had disconnected and since then Clint hasn’t heard anything from him. James didn’t answer his calls or texts. 

Clint was going mad here, trying to figure out what James had meant. But one thing was for sure. James seemed to remember who he ~~was~~ had been before he had met Clint. And he wasn’t happy with that. 

Fuck it. 

Clint stood up. He was going home. _Now._

The whine of repulsors stopped him in his tracks and he frowned when War Machine was approaching the tower. He jumped to the side so that Rhodes could land and followed him inside the Penthouse while the armor was dissembling around the lieutenant colonel. 

“Rhodes,” he greeted the man, shaking hands with him. “Tony is in a meeting. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it,” the other man said. “Something came up.”

Shit. So much for going home. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Rhodes shrugged. “It ain’t that bad. Just…uh, I’ll tell you when Tony is here. How many Avengers are available?” he then asked. 

“Just Tony and I,” Clint said. “Thor is in Asgard and Banner somewhere in South America. We’re a bit short-staffed. Wilson, Steve and Nat are somewhere in Siberia. Radio silence on that end, I’m afraid.”

Rhodey didn’t look happy after that revelation and went straight to Tony’s bar. “You want some?” he asked after helping himself with some Scotch. “Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

Tony chose the moment to appear in the penthouse, eyes lighting up when he spotted Rhodes. 

“Honeybear! J. told me that you’re here. Missed me that much?”

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodes smiled and they hugged for a moment. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“Everything, Rhodey. Spit it out.” Tony threw himself on the couch and loosened his tie.

Rhodey sat down next to him and gestured for Clint to do the same. 

“My boss, general King, approached me earlier, saying that he’s fearing for his life. I don’t know if you noticed it but during the last two days five top military men and two people, whom have been in top positions during earlier governments, died under suspicious circumstances.”

J.A.R.V.I.S. brought up some screens which showed the deceased people. 

“I don’t see any connection between the deaths, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. apologized.

“Yeah, me neither, J.,” Rhodes sighed. “But my boss insisted that he would be the next and the ‘last’ one. He wouldn’t tell me the reason, though. He just demanded that the Avengers were to be his bodyguards until the threat was over. And I quote him here: ‘The ghost is on his mission again. He won’t stop until he’s satisfied. He’s learned revenge.’”

Clint barked a laugh. “Why would I want to help some paranoid asshole? If he doesn’t want to tell you what he or they had done, he has a skeleton in his closet. Maybe he deserves to die. Maybe the ‘ghost’ is just a pissed off soldier who has written some threatening letters. I don’t think that’s Avengers business.”

Tony bit his lip. “J. You really can’t see any connections?”

“No, Sir. No old S.H.I.E.L.D. database has them listed as a threat. No connection to AIM or Hydra.”  
Clint winced at the mention of Hydra and Rhodes looked pained. “I’m sorry. But he’s an asshole and threatened to cashier me if I don’t ask my ‘best buddies’ to help him with his safety.”

Clint pulled a few holograms closer to him. “I don’t get it. Most of them were ancient. They have been retired for ages. Who would murder some grandpas?”

“Right now, I don’t care,” Rhodes said. “I just don’t want to lose my job. Let’s just play bodyguard for a day and catch the motherfucker who is on a rampage. If we get him alive, we can still ask him why he did that and general King has to answer some questions anyways.”

Clint rolled his eyes. He wasn’t an agent anymore. Hell, even during his time as an agent he didn’t have any personal security jobs.

“I’m in,” Tony said. “Change of scenery and all that shit. Don’t worry, Rhodey. You’ll keep your job.” Rhodes looked relieved at that and then both turned their heads at him, looking expectant. 

Clint still had a bad feeling about this. Still, a security job wasn’t that bad. He was sick of New York and its absent superheroes and mad villains. It wouldn’t hurt to catch some bad guy whose hobby apparently was murdering old people. It couldn’t be that hard to catch the guy. Iron Man’s and War Machine’s firepower should be enough for that. 

He sighed.

“Alright, then. Let me get my gear. We’ll meet at the Quinjet in ten.”

~+~

The bad feeling he had about this whole thing just got worse when James still didn’t pick up his phone. Clint would rather go home. He promised himself that he would after this job was done. He should have returned home as soon as James had started to act strangely. 

But Clint wouldn’t make this mistake twice.

One mission and then he would demand from every other Avenger that they would come back.

A fucking team they were.

~+~

It was ridiculous how unprepared general King was. He didn’t even have a safe house. He really thought that the so called ‘master assassin’ (King’s words) wouldn’t dare to come through the front door. Especially when King had two metal bodyguards. He even hired a private security team which had been positioned on all ends of the house. But Clint could see that, despite his orotund words about the high security standard and that the ghost wouldn’t dare to do something, general King was shitting his pants. He was fucking terrified and locked himself in the bedroom with Tony and Rhodes. (“He’s coming tonight. Ghosts always show at night.”)

Clint had taken position on the roof. Alone, fuck you very much. The goons, King had hired, only disturbed him in his work. He could hear Tony and Rhodes talking over the private comm, Tony had opened, but didn’t say a word himself. He walked in circles around the roof and stared into distance. Nothing much happened for a few hours. Clint loathed this waiting jobs. He had difficulties keeping focused. More often than not, he glanced at his phone, which technically shouldn’t be turned on but there weren’t any message from James. Clint hoped that he was okay. He hated the silent treatment James was giving him. He hated the haunted eyes and the words that had come out of his mouth before he had disconnected the call and simply vanished. Now, Clint regretted that he hadn’t put a tracking device in James’ StarkPhone. Maybe he should ask J.A.R.V.I.S. to hack it. Clint was pretty sure that J.A.R.V.I.S. could do that, despite what Tony had assured them about their privacy.

He didn’t want to violate James’ privacy, though.

Shit.

Clint pulled at his hair and repressed the urge to scream. 

He startled when the comm suddenly flared to life and _Cap’s_ voice was audible. 

“ _-I repeat, do not try to take him out alone. General King is the last piece for solving the riddle. Bring general King to safety. Evacuate the building-_ ”

Steve got interrupted by Tony with a nice “Fuck you, Cap. What are you doing in my private comm? Where are you?”

Now Natasha was speaking over both of them.

“ _It’s too dangerous. You don’t know whom you’re about to meet. Screw King, just get out of there, Clint, Tony and Rhodey. I mean it. Get your asses out of the danger zone, boys. We’re on our way. ETA 48 minutes.”_

Clint tried to make out what she was saying, but it wasn’t easy with Tony and Steve bickering and throwing insults at each other. And how the hell did the Holy Trio knew where they were? Did they know the ‘ghost’? Was it _him_ they have been after? In fucking Russia? 

What the fuck. 

When he tried to join the conversation, the line suddenly went dead. The surrounding lights went out, too.

“Hello? Nat? Tony? Does anyone copy?” 

Okay…now Clint was getting nervous. What was happening? He took the comm out of his ear and frowned at it. He could hear the voices of the private security. They couldn’t reach each other through their comms either. It was pitch black. They next light source, Clint could make out, was at least two miles away. 

Fuck.

He strained his ears and closed his eyes. 

_There._

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Shit.

_He_ was in the house already. 

Putting the comm back into his ear, Clint turned on the night vision on his glasses (thank you, Tony!) and jumped to the edge of the roof. Beneath him was the general’s bedroom. He swung around and shattered the glass of the bedroom windows with his feet, landing a few feet in front of the lying Iron Man. War Machine was also down, lying next to the door. And on the bed was a very dead general.

A second later Iron Man’s face plate opened and he looked in the face of a very distressed Tony.

“The fucker used some EMP device. It was scary. He was here for a just a few seconds. Shit, that was fucked up. He didn’t touch us, though.”

Clint was relieved that his team mates weren’t dead and perked up when he could hear muffled screams from the outside. The ghost was making his way out again.

“I can get him,” Clint growled. “Just work on the comm. We need to contact the others. I think they knew more about this mess than they let on.” Tony nodded.

“The suits should reboot in one minute. Go, get this fucker.”

Clint climbed back up onto the roof and took out two arrows. He followed the muffling sounds and drew his bow. There was a final _thud_ and after that he couldn’t hear anything. He searched the compound frantically - _there._

Clint smiled, watching the retreating figure.

“Gotcha motherfucker,” he whispered and let his two arrows fly. As soon as he saw that the arrows had reached their destination, he jumped from the roof onto the van parked under it and from that on the street. The man stumbled when one arrow pierced through his left thigh and the other through his right shoulder blade. 

The few seconds it took the man to realize what just happened were enough for Clint to catch up with him. When the other man was within reach, Clint kicked him in the back. The reaction came lighting fast. His gloved left hand grabbed Clint’s foot and _twisted_. Pain shot through his body and his glasses broke when the assassin punched him in the face with his right fist. He was lying on the grass within one second.

One punch and Clint felt dizzy as hell. Shit. Was this guy even human?

His comm and all lights around them flared to life suddenly and Clint blinked up in the face of the other man. A mask was hiding half of his face and the eyes were hidden behind thick, black goggles. It was fucking scary how the man was looming over him, arm behind his head, preparing for a punch to knock Clint out for good. His left hand had grabbed his collar but the man froze midway. 

“ _Hawkeye, do you copy? We’re with you in a minute. War Machine is still rebooting._ ” Tony’s voice said suddenly in his ear and the man above him flinched as if he had heard the words.

Clint tried to kick him with his non-broken foot but the man dodged that easily. One move and he had turned Clint around, pressing his face into the dirty grass. Clint was trapped between him and the meadow.

_This is it,_ Clint thought. _I’m going to die and can’t even say good-bye to James properly._

When the right fist of the man collided with his right temple, Clint could have sworn he heard the man whisper: “I’m so sorry.”

~+~

He woke up with a pounding headache, a broken ankle and his head in Natasha’s lap. He blinked up at her worried face. 

“Oh man, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled. Natasha smiled weakly and then patted him on the cheek harder than she had to.

“Idiot. You could have died. Why weren’t you running as soon as I told you so?”

He was still lying in front of the general’s house and Wilson was sitting next to them, giving Clint a mocking salute. “Welcome back, bro.”

A few feet away from them, Cap and Tony were having a screaming match and Rhodes was talking to some military guys. 

“What the hell happened?” he groaned, sitting up slowly.

“The Winter Soldier happened,” Natasha answered.

“The what?” he asked, rubbing his head. Ouch. 

“You!” Cap suddenly hollered and grabbed Clint’s uniform, helping him up roughly.

“Are you insane? I told you get the fuck out of here.” Wow, Cap was swearing. And why were there suddenly three Caps in front of him? Uh…the world was spinning.

“Relax, Cap,” he slurred. “Nothing happened. Who was that guy anyway? What the hell do you know about him? Why did you know that he’ll be here?”

“We heard about the deaths of the retired generals. He – ah – had a connection with them. We figured that King would be the last on his list, since he had been mentioned in the documents we have found. You could say that they had some unfinished business,” Wilson said and Clint understood nothing. What?

“What?” he therefore asked. 

“Wait,” he looked at Steve. “You know this guy?”

Steve snorted. “Do I know him, he asks me.” He looks at Natasha and Wilson as if they have an inside joke. Did they just make fun of him? Shit. Uh. “Hold that thought,” Clint said and promptly threw up in front of Steve’s shoes.

“I think he has a concussion,” Wilson said drily when Clint drifted into unconsciousness again.

~+~

He woke _again_ at the crack of dawn due to the ringing of the phone on his bedside table. 

“What?” he jerked up and fumbled for the phone. _James :3_ it said and Clint swiped his thumb, answering immediately.

“Yes?” he breathed. There were a few beats of silence and then James’ broken voice.

“ _Come home, please. I’m so sorry._ ” And the line went dead.

Clint had never been more afraid in his life. He stared at his phone and then sprang into motion. He grabbed his phone and the pile of clothes which lay on the chair next to the bed (hospital bed, he realized) and put them on. Ignoring the pain in his head, he took the crutches which were leaning next to his bed and made his way out of the hospital. (And if that wasn’t fucking easy. Nobody noticed his escape) None of the Avengers were here. Clint guessed that they had retreated to the tower to get a couple of hours of sleep. But Clint didn’t go back to the tower.

He went to the next subway station, boarding a train to the central station. 

His destination?

_James_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. Another step forward.
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments! I read them all and I'm always so happy to read your opinions!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint comes home. James awaits him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we've cracked another hundred! Let me love you all! xo

The ride home was agonizing. Clint couldn’t rely on the jet and he also didn’t have the time to sneak into Avengers Tower to get one of his many forged passports and ID’s to use a commercial flight home. So public transportation it was. And boy, wasn’t that a bitch. His head hurt, his broken leg hurt. Everything hurt. And he had to change busses three times until he finally reached Maine where he honest to god rented a car instead of stealing one. He was lucky it was his left leg that was broken. Otherwise, driving would be a problem. It was sunset already, when he managed to reach the house after another two hours. As soon as he got out of the car and the warm evening air filled his nose, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Sure, he’d been nervous the whole day, but something was really off. James hadn’t contacted him again and Clint had given up trying to reach him after several text messages.

Lucky greeted him at the door, but he wasn’t barking. He just whimpered and pressed his head against Clint’s cheek after Clint had crouched down to bury his hands in that thick fur. 

The kitchen was a mess. Broken glass and dishes were lying everywhere. The kitchen table was turned over and one of the kitchen chairs was totally shredded. The living room didn’t look much better but Clint appreciated that the expensive TV was still intact and hanging on the wall properly. Quite a temper tantrum that James had experienced. 

“Lucky, where is James, hm?” he asked his dog who wouldn’t leave his side. This time Lucky barked and made his way to the stairs. Clint followed him with his crutches and froze when he reached the stairs.

There was a mask lying in the middle of the stairs. Next to the mask lay the remains of a broken goggle. Clint knew whom they belonged to in an instant. Shit. No, no, no. The Winter Soldier couldn’t have been here, couldn’t he? 

James. Fuck, James! What if the Winter Soldier had harmed James as some sort of revenge? Those two arrows must have hurt like a bitch. He climbed up the stairs as fast as he could and burst into James’ room but it was _empty_. Clint took a moment to panic until he registered Lucky scratching at the door to _his_ room. He turned around and opened the door to his bedroom. And there he was. Sitting on his bed and changing the bandage on his shoulder. He also sported a bandage on his thigh which is bleeding through. The whole room was littered with paper sheets. Clint recognized James’ writing. 

At first he thought, _Oh fuck. The Winter Soldier was here. But James is thankfully alive._

And then it dawned on him. James clearly wouldn’t meet his eyes, concentrating on his bandages with a stoic gaze. 

The wounds.

The shoulder and the thigh.

The mask and the goggles.

He tensed and picked up the first sheet of paper he could get his hands on.

_Stark, Howard (1921-1987); Stark, Maria (1948-1987); made it look like a car accident._

What.

_Hasegawa, Itsu (1980-2010), she almost noticed me._

Hundreds of sheets.

_Fury, Nicholas(1950- ~~2014~~ ), failed, failed, FAILED. Mission FAILED._

Clint couldn’t believe what he was reading. None of this made any sense. Well, it kind of did, but Clint _wouldn’t_ believe it.

He looked up and saw that James was watching him with hollow eyes. He suddenly moved and Clint flinched against all odds. He had trouble keeping his Hawkeye persona in, because everything screamed _Danger, Danger_. But James only held out another sheet of paper. Clint took it and his mouth went dry. 

_Rogers, Steven Grant (1918- ~~1943~~ ) Codename: Captain America. Current affiliation: The Avengers (Black Widow, Hulk, Thor, Iron Man (a STARK), Hawkeye. Hawkeye. HAWKEYE. **HAWKEYE**. **CLINT** )_

_Captain America is my mission. My mission. I failed. What happened? What. What. WHAT._

Clint didn’t know what to say. He tried anyways.

“You were in D.C.,” he said quietly. “You’ve wandered here from fucking D.C.. Oh my god, now it’s so obvious. Oh god.” Clint babbled and didn’t care in the slightest. He took a big step backwards and hit the doorframe hard. He had forgotten that his whole leg was in a cast, had lost his balance, tripped and fell on his ass. Ouch.

James jumped from the bed and Clint threw up both of his hands in defense. They both froze in their movement and stared at one another. James looked so hurt, Clint lowered his arms immediately. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I just…that’s kind of hard to believe. I mean…” he was at a loss for words. “ _James,_ ” he sighed, leaning his head against the wall. “What the fuck? You broke my leg and gave me an awful headache. Did you know who I was all the time? You want to finish your _mission_ through me?” he couldn’t help that he sneered the last words but if this all were true…fuck, it already hurt. 

James looked devastated and shook his head. “No. Clint, god NO. Don’t think that. I really had no idea who I was. I…it came all back a few days ago. I was watching a…uh…documentary and …”

“And you decided to go on a rampage after that? Killing some random high brasses? What the fuck is that all about? Are you the Winter Soldier now?”

James flinched violently at the name and shook his head only more. He slumped onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. “I killed them because they are fucking Hydra, okay? I killed them because _I_ was Hydra. They _made_ me Hydra.” James shouted the last words and they seemed to echo in the silence that followed. 

Clint had no idea how long they were silent but the longer the silence got, the more awkward Clint felt. He averted his gaze and grabbed the next sheet of paper, lying next to him. He skimmed through it. Huh.

“James. That can’t be right. You wrote here, that you killed this Asimov dude in 1963. I’m pretty sure that’s like twenty years before you were born.”

James chuckled darkly and ripped off the bandage on his thigh which was crimson red and wet with blood. 

“Clint. You have no idea. What do you think Hydra did with me? Let me in some safe house and play house with some female spy? They fucking _froze_ me.”

Clint couldn’t wrap his head around that. Because, what the fuck? Who did this shit? 

“So, you’re not Hydra?”

“NO!”

“But you were.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They told me I was saving the world. God, Clint. I am an American citizen who’s been talking RUSSIAN for the past 70 years. They fucking brainwashed me.”

Now it was Clint’s turn to flinch. He still didn’t understand much but _that_ he could understand. 

James was bleeding on the floor now, shaking. Clint sighed and made his way to James in awkward moves. His leg was throbbing. He should have nicked some pain killers on the way out of the hospital.

“Let me help you,” he said, sitting in front of the bed and next to James’ knees. He patched James’ thigh up, feeling bad about the wound. “I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he said, gesturing to James’ thigh and shoulder. James just shrugged. “I’ve had worse. And you have a superb aim, by the way.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Clint said and lay his head on James thigh. He was so tired and his body hurt everywhere. James’ hand came to rest on his head and Clint sighed. 

“How about you tell me everything you remember. I’m sorry I reacted that way. We’re going to sort this mess out, I promise.”

Lucky had placed himself in front of Clint and was fast asleep within a minute. James said nothing for a long time but then he started to talk and didn’t stop for almost two hours.

Yes, he remembered fighting in World War II.

He remembered a near death experience.

The Russians captured him.

They had removed (completely destroyed) his arm, replacing it with a bionic one.

He told Clint about the seat and the machines and the electric shocks. 

He recalled every mission he had received.

He assumed that they had wiped him four or five times. 

After trying to kill Nicholas Fury everything was blurry for him.

“Something went horribly wrong in D.C.,” James ended his monologue. “I remember them trying to wipe me. And the next thing I remember is you. I swear. I have a blackout of two weeks. I don’t know what happened. I tried to remember but it’s like I need some kind of trigger. And I haven’t found it yet.”

Clint had listened to every word and still couldn’t believe it. He thought that he had it bad with Loki but what this fucking organization did with James. God…if James hadn’t killed the last remaining US-Hydra agents, he would do it. Gladly.

He turned his head so that he could look up at James’ face which was wet from tears. James looked so sad and scared. 

“We’ll figure it out. _You_ are not the bad person in this whole scheme. They _made_ you do that. You know that much, don’t you?” James looked at him skeptical and Clint sighed, reaching up at James’ face with his hands. 

“Look, I know some things about brainwashing, believe me. And I happen to know the tactic to get Russian master assassins on my side. The best side.” Clint smirked and James looked confused. 

“Uh-huh. And what is that tactic?”

“I seduce them. Duh.”

“Wha-“ James started but Clint already pulled him down and kissed him. 

It felt good to kiss James again. Sure, he had fantasized their second kiss under different circumstances but James looked so lost and broken. Clint had no idea how to fix this. But he knew that physical contact was _his_ coping mechanism (Nope, after the battle of New York he did other things to his psychiatrist than talking. It had helped, somehow) and maybe they could start with that. 

James’ lips were dry and chapped and Clint’s thumbs stroked over a stubble that was more than three days old. His hair felt greasy and his posture was stiff because the awkward angle stretched his wounds. But his response was enthusiastic his tongue felt heavenly and oh god, how would the next kiss feel, if every next one got better and better?

Suddenly, Clint couldn’t help but chuckle. James broke the kiss and looked at him in a mixture of annoyed, fond and confused. His lips were wet and pink and if Clint didn’t have a shitty body with broken bones and aching tiredness right now, he would have jumped him. But now, he could only laugh hysterical. 

“What’s so funny?” James asked.

“We are,” Clint grunted. “I thought _I_ was fucked up but then I hear your story and…we two are made for each other. You haven’t heard my life story, yet.”

“Oh, I know that. I learned about you, when I was assigned for killing Captain America, remember?”

Clint bit his lip at that. He almost forgot that _this_ elephant was still in the room. 

“Dude, that’s creepy. But let’s talk about that tomorrow, okay? I think I’m going to sleep for like 28 hours. And you know what? You’re going to sleep with me.”

James raised an eyebrow at that. “Am I, now?”

Clint waggled his eyebrows and James helped him up on the bed. He groaned when he moved his body and cursed the throbbing pain in his leg. James swiped the remaining papers from the bed and Clint chuckled when James tucked him in with more care than necessary. That felt nice. Especially when James slid next to him under the sheets and held out two strong painkillers and a glass of water.

Clint swallowed them down and sighed with relief. “I didn’t know I had such strong meds here,” he said sleepily, closing his eyes. 

“You haven’t,” James said, pulling at Clint so that he could place his head under James’ left shoulder and next to his arm. The cool metal was soothing and Clint maybe purred a little bit. “I visited a pharmacy on my way back. They were very generous, considering that they were closed.”

Clint huffed and was halfway to dreamland when he remembered something important.

“Wait,” he mumbled. “You fought in World War II?”

James’ body stiffened under his and Clint stroked James’ right hip bone with his left hand; James relaxed again.

“I think, I did. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Nope. You know I know Captain America. So it isn’t that strange to me. Did you know him back then? You do realize he is searching for you, yes?”

There was a heartbeat of silence and then James said, “No. I was in Europe when he was still in the US. Heard of his awesome outfit, though. And it’s only logical he’s searching for me. I think half of the world is looking for me. Hydra changed regimes with my help.”

“Hmhm…makes sense,” Clint mumbled and James relaxed further under his hand. “Hey, what’s your last name? Do you remember it?” 

Clint was almost asleep when James answered.

“James Bar-,“ he hesitated. “James Barnell.”

Barnell. That didn’t sound right somehow. 

Maybe it was because Clint liked the name _James Barton_ much more.

~+~

He really did sleep for over 20 hours. He remembered being woken up occasionally by James and swallowing another dose of painkillers. When he woke up for real, he almost felt human again. Lucky was draped over the foot of the bed, snoring. A look at the alarm clock showed him that it was shortly after eight in the evening. His bedroom was cleaned up and his stomach growled when he could smell something heavenly from the kitchen. But first things first. He dragged himself in the bathroom to relieve his bladder and then peeled his clothes off, made a quick wash at the sink and after brushing his teeth and rinsing his hair with water, he could ignore the lingering pain in his leg. 

Thanking his body for his flexibility, he managed to step into a new pair of boxers and put on a fresh t-shirt. He went out without putting pants on, because his leg was already throbbing more from the movement and Clint ignoring his crutches. He used them for his walk downstairs, after swallowing another two pills, and found James in the (now pristine) kitchen. 

James (who hadn’t any bandages anymore. no wounds to be seen) looked up when Clint sat down at the kitchen table with an ‘oof’. 

“Sleep well?” he asked, ignoring his cooking for a moment and walked to Clint with determination in his eyes. Clint swallowed and thought for a moment ‘this is it. He’s going to kill me now. I know too much.’ But then James cradled his face, leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his lips. 

Clint’s heart fluttered and he smiled against James’ lips. Well, that was surprising. And nice. Surprinice. Okay, his brain was bidding good-bye. 

Clint hummed when James broke the kiss took James’ metal hand to place a kiss on the knuckles. “You didn’t run away. How nice of you,” Clint said and James shrugged, turning to the stove again. “I thought about it. But where would I go? I raided my last Hydra safe house for my gear and set it on fire. Only Pierce knew about it; but better safe than sorry. I know this all is messy but I’m rather with you than all alone. I’ve been alone for 70 years. I think I’ve had my fill.” 

The silence stretched between them because Clint still had no idea how to proceed with that particular topic. Instead he asked James what he was cooking.

“’Cause that smells awesome.”

James took potatoes out of the oven and with it came an amazing work of art. 

“Oh my god. You made Beef Wellington? Are you insane? How did you do that?” Clint had slowly stood up and limped to James and the mouthwatering piece of meat.

“Uh, I looked up the recipe and bought the ingredients?!”

“But…I heard it’s super hard to make. What are you? A cooking wizard?”

James snorted. “No. Just a master assassin who has a foible for cooking, apparently.”

“You are an amazing human being, James. You know that a few hot dogs would have been good enough for me.” Clint said awkwardly.

“You’ve told me that it is your favorite food, isn’t it?” James asked.

“Well, yes. But-,” Clint started but got interrupted by James.

“So I made it for you, end of the story. You can see it as an apology if you want, since I broke your leg.”

Clint huffed and sat back down again. “You’ve got some mean moves. You should teach me them, when I’m feeling normal again.”

He saw his phone on the kitchen counter which was suspiciously silent. James followed his gaze and nodded to the phone. “Your friends wanted to know where you are. I told this J-guy that you’re at home recovering. It seems that you’re allergic to hospitals and they didn’t ask any further.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, I tend to avoid hospitals. Hate them, in fact.” 

He should call Natasha, though. But not now.

Because now there was a steaming plate before him and a tenderly melting beef on his tongue. Clint was aware of the fact that he moaned like a porn star. But it was just so fucking delicious. He told James so every ten seconds. And the more he told him that, the more James smiled.

Clint loved it.

He was at his last bite when James said conversationally, “So, you’ve slept with the famous чёрная вдова. Was it serious? I’m surprised she didn’t kill you. I know her records. You must be _very_ convincing.”

Clint choked on his beef and washed it down with huge gulps of water. 

“Straight to the point,” he wheezed and James barked a laugh. “I’m thinking about my shitty life story non-stop. Teasing you is much better,” he said innocently. He then sobered up and sighed. “Seriously, though. You’re working with her for almost 15 years. She trusts you completely. Do you have a thing for broken Russian assassins?”

Clint snorted and shoved his plate away. 

“First of all, you’re American and always have been,” he said. “And second, I didn’t know who you were. And if that was some kind of twisted hit-on, than I have to tell you that you’re lame. Did they flirt like that in the forties? You’re worse than Cap.”

James tensed and Clint regretted his words immediately. He shouldn’t joke about it, yet. Nope. So he decided to steamroll.

“I love her,” he said. “I love her dearly but it didn’t work out. You say, she trusts me completely. I say, she doesn’t. I know there’s like one percent which doesn’t trust me. She experienced too much. And yes, it was her. She ended things. But since then, we’re working together better than ever. Well… _worked_. Kind of everything went to hell after New York, I took more S.H.I.E.L.D. missions than ever as soon as I was cleared again and…uh…”

He didn’t know what to say. He sure became estranged from the Avengers. But they haven’t been a team in the first place, so…

“Anyways,” he sighed, wishing he could chug a beer but the pain killers were far too strong for that. “Do we have to talk about that? I…of course we have. But…maybe not now?”

He felt very uncomfortable and he didn’t want to imagine how it was for James. Clint’s own few days of brain-washing felt like a trifle, compared to James’ experiences.

James cleared his throat and shrugged. He took the dirty dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Lucky chose this moment to bolt down the stairs. He jumped up at James, licking his face happily. James smiled softly at the dog and scratched him behind his ears. “I’m going to take him for a late walk, okay?”

“Sure,” Clint said. “But please don’t run away.”

“I wouldn’t,” James said with an earnest seriousness. Clint smiled at that and air-kissed him. James laughed and left the house with Lucky in tow. Clint sat there for a while, listening to the sounds of the night for a while. He felt absolutely worn out and made his way upstairs again, snatching the phone from the kitchen counter. After opening the windows of his bedroom wide, he sank down on the bed, tried to ignore the itch beneath his cast and texted J.A.R.V.I.S. to patch him through to Natasha, if she was available.

She was; and for the first minutes of the call, her reproaches hailed down on him. She stopped after a while and sighed.

“ _I just don’t understand why you won’t come to us,” she said. “You’re all alone there on your farm. Who cares for you there?_ ”

Clint swallowed down the lump in his throat. It was time to bite the bullet and tell Natasha _something_.

“Oh, I um,” he stopped, swallowing his words. God, why was this so hard? “I am not alone. I have someone. Don’t worry.”

The silence on the other end of the line was deadly and Clint winced when she finally answered in a frightening calm tone.

“ _You have someone and you didn’t tell me? How long?_ ”

“We, ah…we got to know each other over a year ago.”

“ _Did you now.”_

“Yup,” he really didn’t want to talk to her about this. She and Cap and Wilson were searching for James and oh god, did they want to kill him? Had Clint already told too much? Would the three come here in an hour and take James into custody? God, _what was he thinking?_. Calling Natasha and telling her about James. Now she would want to _meet_ him. Fuck. Shit. 

“But uh, I really don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you, but. I value my privacy?” Shit, that sounded like an unsure question. What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be a spy and he sounded like a nervous teenager, god damn it. 

“Just,” he rubbed his eyes. “Just don’t tell anyone that I…uh…” was he seeing James? What were they? He couldn’t just tell, that James lived with him, that he liked him very much, that he would do everything do defend him in case, Cap got here.

Huh. 

Wow.

He definitely would fight for James. Even it meant his death. (Which he was pretty sure, because what were the chances, winning against Cap and Nat and….okay, now he was being overdramatic.)

“Just forget what I just said, yeah? I really don’t want to be an Avenger right now. I have other stuff to sort out. And…you have your own missions, haven’t you? You and Cap and Wilson can be the New Avengers or some shit.”

“ _Clint, you’re babbling_.” Now she sounded amused. “ _It’s okay. If you have stress in paradise, I understand that you need to be there. Just come back when you’re leg is healed. And I don’t know if I’m going on another missions. We’re hitting dead ends everywhere and the Winter Soldier is in the US, apparently. I’m sure Steve needs a break, too. And he also thinks that the Soldier will come to him, eventually._ ”

What? Why would James come to Steve voluntarily? They didn’t even know each other. And Cap ~~was~~ had been James’ mission. He maybe should sort that out with James until he spoke with Natasha again. Not the he revealed something crucial by accident. 

“If he says so,” Clint said. “I don’t really care about that. I’m going to hang up now, okay? Tell the guys I’m fine. I have a nurse here.”

Natasha snorted. “ _We’re not done yet, Barton. We’ll talk when you get back. I’ll tell you if I’m going on a mission again._ ”

“Alright, love you, Nat. Seriously.”

“ _I love you too, moron._ ”

He ended the call and threw himself into the cushions with a heavy sigh. Shit. This was a mess. And he even couldn’t get a feeling of how James was coping. He did kill some US remains of Hydra, though. But Clint knew from experience that one didn’t feel better after a rampage of this dimension. 

“Fuck,” Clint murmured, turned around and buried his face into the cushion. The tiredness was overwhelming him again and by the time James came back with Lucky, Clint was fast asleep again.

He did wake up for a moment when a warm body pressed behind him, though. There was a kiss on his neck, a hand on his lower abdomen. Clint took the hand on his stomach in his own and fell asleep again.

~+~

They began to sleep like this every night since then. 

But sometimes they were just lying in this position, holding each other and talked, talked, talked.

It was exhausting but freeing.

~+~

Some nights were frightening for Clint. 

Some nights, James would wake up, thrashing around, bruising Clint when he tried to get James out of his current flashback episode.

He refused to sleep in the other room on those nights.

James called him an idiot every time Clint refused to let go.

~+~

“So, is Captain America still your mission? Are you going to fight him, if he finds you one day?”

“He won’t find me. I don’t want to meet him. I prefer to never see him again.”

“Are you afraid that you’ll become the Soldier then? Some trigger about an unfinished mission?”

“No…it’s…complicated, I guess.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Very subtle, James.”

~+~

“I will save you,” Clint whispered one night.

“I know,” James answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I put Clint's farm to Maine. I have no idea if that state has farms like in the movie but I do remember forest and I just googled the US-State with the most amount of forest, ha.
> 
> I love you and all of your comments. God, I love to read your comments. Do you have any idea how much writers are appreciating comments? :)
> 
> Also, the big show-down is lurking in the shadows, woohoo.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James can be mean and Clint gets a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing [MK](http://notverygoodatflyingaeroplanes.tumblr.com/) offered to beta my work from now on! You can't believe how thankful I am for that! You all should go and visit her tumblr and follow her!

The barn was full of life today. 

Sighing.

Groaning.

Moaning.

“Ugh…that hurts. You’re hurting me. Fuck.”

“Don’t be a baby, Barton.”

“I told you do be gentle! It’s my first time!”

“You should have thought about that before you’ve asked me to do it to you.”

“No, I’m serious. Ouch. Ow. Is my leg supposed to be there?”

Clint frowned at his leg which was perched over James’ shoulder. James looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. “I know what I’m doing,” he huffed and pressed even more.

Clint howled and for a moment he pondered about throwing James off of him. But then James released him and the annoying twitching pain in his leg was gone. The stretching had worked.

“Fuck me,” Clint groaned and rubbed over his left leg. A week ago the cast had come off his leg and Clint did have troubles getting back in shape. James had offered to help him re-activating his muscles but _Jesus_ he was rough. It was like training with Nat all over again – but more intense. (And he did not look at that feeling to closely, thank you very much)

He was sweating like a pig and James looked like he stepped straight out of a TV commercial, like the hunk from the Diet Coke ad or some shit. His hair was tied in a messy bun, the tank top was clinging to his body, the sweat pants were hanging low on his hips and a soft layer of glistening sweat covered his arms and face.

He was mouthwatering.

There was a flirty comment on the tip of Clint’s tongue but when he attempted to talk, only a croak came out and he had to dodge James’ next tackle. He managed it – barely. Fucking hell. James never told him when he attacked next (“Nobody tells you when they fight you, Clint. Man up” – “But this is training! Go easy on me!” – “I already do.”) and Clint felt like a child compared to James. Not only was James exquisite in hand-to-hand-combat, he also was an excellent sniper. At least Clint’s own sniping skills weren’t that far behind…

They ended the training when Lucky ran into the barn (which they had turned into a makeshift gym) barking loudly and licking the sweat off Clint’s face. “Aww, c’mon, buddy. No. Stop.” Clint tried to escape but only James’ quiet but severe _Lucky, drop it!_ let Lucky jump back and looking at James with attention, his tail happily wagging.

“Good boy,” James told the dog and scratched him behind his ears. “You hungry? Didn’t chase any squirrels in the woods? Come on, then. I’ve bought the good food for you, yesterday. There was a coupon for it.”

He left the barn with Lucky, leaving Clint behind who was still lying on the floor, trying to catch his breath. “Don’t mind me,” he called after James. “I’m just going to lie here until I can move again!”

He could have sworn that he heard James chuckle.

“Ass.” Clint mumbled but smiled nonetheless. The last eight weeks had been hard for both of them and at the time Clint’s cast had come off, both of them had been thrumming with energy and the training helped to compensate most of it. In addition, James took long walks with Lucky every night. Clint had realized that James felt the urge to do _something_ or else he was trapped in his own mind. And when James was there too long, it usually didn’t end well for both of them. Clint tried to help James somehow. But James’ mind washing had been on a whole other level than Clint’s. Hell, Clint’s little trip with Loki had only lasted a few days. The thought that James’ had endured that for 70 years made Clint still shiver with disgust.

Clint dragged himself to the kitchen ten minutes later. James was sitting on the floor, next to Lucky’s food bowl. Lucky was stretched out in front of him, tongue hanging out and enjoying the belly rub James was giving him. There were no remains of dog food in the bowl. So Lucky had devoured it in one go.

He made his way to the fridge and took out the leftovers of the lunch they’ve had a few hours before. It was delicious homemade pizza, again by the courtesy of James’ amazing cooking skills.

(“So, when I was a kid-“

“When was that? In the 1930’s?”

“No, in the 1920’s actually.”

“Oh my _god_ , you’re so _old_ ”

“Shut up, Barton. Anyways, when I was a kid there was this Italian family living next to us. The matron had invited S- uh, a friend and me sometimes and I think I can recreate that pizza.”

“I’m all in for pizza. And Lucky is, too. Knock yourself out, gramps.”

“I swear to god…”)

“Should I reheat it for you?” Clint asked James who shook his head.

“Nah, give it here.”

Clint sat down next to James, leaning his back on the wall behind him and gave him a plate with a whole pizza. James eyed Clint’s plate suspiciously which only had a half. “Why don’t you take whole pizza?” he asked and Clint shrugged. “I’m not that hungry. I think you knocked my stomach out a few punches ago.”

James looked at him in disbelief.

Clint nodded enthusiastically. “No, I mean it. All I want is a nice bath and sleep. You’ve worn me out,” he swore to James and bit in his half. 

Besides, James’ metabolism was – well, he ate like Steve. Clint only knew of one other human being that could eat so much in one go, and that was Steve. Since James had almost remembered everything, his appetite had come back full force and Clint was more than happy when he was able to share his food with James.

By the time they were done eating, Lucky was snoring loudly and looked like the happiest dog in the world. And maybe he was. Clint also wouldn’t mind James hand petting and stroking him in all the good places.

Clint cleared his throat and jumped up quickly. His sore leg was complaining loudly.

“So, uh. Bath. I’m going to take one.”

He dumped his empty plate into the sink and was up the stairs before James could say anything.

Clint took a cold shower before he filled the bath tub with steaming hot water.

Better safe than sorry.

~+~

There were nights when they were sleeping next to each other in a comfortable distance.

There were also nights in which James didn’t come to bed at all because of wandering through the night with Lucky (depressed) or falling asleep on the couch while watching TV (also depressed).

But then there were nights in which Clint fell out of the bed in a hurry because of his raging erection pressing somewhere against a sleeping James and his fear that James would notice it.

Life could be cruel, sometimes.

~+~

Clint was napping on the couch with Lucky when James came home from the most recent town trip. “The car is full, so get up and help me, you lazy ass,” was James’ lovely greeting. He also dumped a pile of mail in Clint’s lap.

“You’re back early,” Clint said and began leafing through the mail James had picked up in the town post office. James placed a sweet kiss on Clint’s forehead and patted Lucky’s head.

“Yeah, I was too late for the special offers. Fucking extreme couponers emptied half of the shelves.”

Clint snorted. James hated those housewives who were buying thousands of things with three shopping carts and then made him wait in the line because of their hundreds of coupons.

“Leave them alone. It’s their hobby, and it’s a good feeling providing for your family with as little money as possible, don’t you think?”

James shrugged. “Sure, if it were healthy things they would buy, I would say nothing, but…all this Ramen crap and chips and what not…”

“Don’t you dare to insult instant ramen, James! It’s one of the best things in the world.”

James rolled his eyes, mumbling something about that his army rations had tasted better and went out again, to get the groceries out of the car. Clint chuckled, and after checking out James’s ass (He kind of had a murder strut. It was fucking hot.) he got up to help him. They both had to walk four times between the car and the house until everything was deposited in the kitchen and Clint was really glad that his so-called Avengers salary kept coming in monthly. If there hadn’t been the Avengers, he would be unemployed after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. because who would want to employ an ex-carnie with a limited high school education? Sure, he could have gone to the CIA or some other organization but Clint hated that pathetic bunch of fucktards. He would rather go back to the circus or shoot himself than being an agent again. 

“There was a postcard in the mail. Did you see it?” James asked him when they were both chopping vegetables and listening to Taylor Swift. (Shut up, James. TayTay was awesome!) Clint looked up from the onions with watery eyes and sniffled. “Really?”

Who would send him a postcard? He let the onions be and left the kitchen only to return with the stack of envelopes in his hands. James was right. There was a postcard. From Guam.

He laughed out loud when he understood and began reading the postcard.

“My god, she’s marrying a fucking Navy officer. Nice one.”

“Who?” James asked, checking the temperature of the oven.

“A friend of mine. Marta. She’s amazing. I stumbled upon her a few years ago when I was in a deep, shitty undercover mission. I helped her out. And then we had a week-long boat ride. S.H.I.E.L.D. I and helped her with a new identity and hiding her from the CIA,” he said, smiling fondly. “We put her to Guam, right in front of their noses and they hadn’t got a clue. Now those assholes who wanted her dead are all gone and she finally can be free again. Funny that she chose to stay there. The climate is too tropical, if you ask me.”

“So it was fun?”

“Oh it _was_. It definitely was,” Clint smiled, his mind wandering to some sweaty action below deck. “That man is very lucky.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure. She’s an amazing woman and boy, she’s got skills in the bedroom-,“ he cut himself off but it was too late. James had the cutting board with the other vegetables in hand and it _cracked_ suddenly and James had two pieces of chopping board in his hands.

“Uh… I mean. You know the drill,” oh god he should just shut up. “The post mission adrenaline? The best sex you can have?”

James was silent, staring him down.

“I mean…I’m sure true love’s first sex is more amazing but uh…nobody has that, like ever.”

James stoic face cracked a bit and he asked, “Don’t you mean true love’s first kiss?”

“Well, yeah. But you do realize that’s the kid version. And did you ever realize that the singing is equivalent to fucking?” okay, now he babbled. But come on! Who wouldn’t try to deflect? Angry James was frightening.

Now James was chuckling – thank god – and Clint helped him pick up the vegetables.

“You’re crazy,” James accused.

“Am not,” Clint said with a wounded sound. “That’s totally true. Let’s watch some Disney later. You’ll get what I mean when we’re watching Beauty and the Beast.”

“That’s absurd.”

~+~

Later, James was sitting with wide eyes in front of the TV, watching the duet in the snow between Belle and the Beast.

Clint was laughing his ass off because of James’ obvious discomfort. James’ answer was a pillow to Clint’s face which eventually became a pillow fight. And after that it became kissing. Much kissing. Very _good_ kissing.

Clint could have cried with joy when James’ hand was gripping his hip bone hard and he brought both of them together. Tight.

“Fuck, yes,” Clint breathed and let his hands wander down James’ back and tried to sneak them in his sweat pants.

Clint’s mind was chanting, _It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening._ when there was suddenly a knock on the door. _A fucking knock_.

They broke apart with a start and James was in a fighting stance within a second as if he hadn’t made out with Clint like a horny teenager five seconds ago. Clint needed a few more seconds in which James suddenly had a gun in his right hand and a knife in the other. Where the fuck did he get that from?

He really needed to ask him that later, but first…

“Greetings, Clinton!” came a loud voice through the door and Clint’s jaw dropped.

What the actual fuck.

“Thor?” he asked hesitantly, approaching the door, James right on his heels. Despite James’ warnings, Clint opened the door and yep. There he was in all his glory and grinning like a lunatic. He was twirling Mjölnir in his right hand and hugged Clint as soon as he laid eyes on him.

“It is good to see you again, old friend,” Thor said and stepped into the house. As soon as he was inside, James was jumping at him and Thor staggered backwards, beginning to swing Mjölnir.

“Shit, fuck. James. NO!”

Unfortunately, Clint couldn’t step between them because he was nowhere strong enough for that. It was kind of marvelous though. He had seen Thor fight against the Hulk. James was nowhere near the Hulk in strength but _fuck_ was he agile. He could have watched their fluid motions forever but sadly, Thor and especially Mjölnir were threatening to destroy his house.

“Thor, James, _please._ ” he shouted and threw an apple at Thor’s head and an orange at James’. That got him their attention.

“Fucking hell, you idiots. Calm the fuck down. What’s wrong with you? It’s okay, James. And you Thor, why the fuck would you fight someone who’s in MY house?”

Thor had the courtesy to look slightly ashamed and James just looked angry.

“Why would you fight my friend, James? Not cool, dude,” Clint sighed. James brought his thumb to his split lip and wiped the blood off.

“He’s a threat,” he said stoically. Clint raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not.”

“ _They_ told me that he is a threat,” James almost hissed.

Oh.

_Oh._

“James, no…” he said quietly. “He’s not.”

Thor looked confused but then shrugged and knelt down to pet Lucky who had come downstairs, curious about the noise they had made.

James and Clint had a short stare-down until James huffed and pocketed his gun and knife.

“Lucky, heel!” he said in a commanding tone. Lucky was at full attention immediately, barked and followed James out of the door, walking next to him.

Clint groaned and rubbed his forehead. How was this his life?

“I’m sorry, Thor. He, ah, is not in a good place right now.”

Thor looked amazingly unfazed and even smiled at Clint.

“Fear not, Clinton. Your beloved is a mighty warrior. I am honored to have fought such a great man.”

Shit, Clint’s cheeks were growing hot. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

“Thor, what are you doing here? I mean, how do you know where I live? Nobody does know that. There’s a reason for that.”

“Heimdall,” was Thor’s answer and he sat down on Clint’s couch, putting Mjölnir on the table.

“Of course,” Clint sighed and looked out in the darkness but James and Lucky were long gone.

“As for why am I here,” Thor continued and put a bag on the table, next to Mjölnir. Clint had no idea where that had come from.

“I was assigned to bring you something from our team. Worry not, I won’t tell them where you live but they needed to deliver it to you personally. I volunteered because I am faster than your puny jet.”

Clint snorted.

“You told that Tony?” he asked, opening the zipper of the bag.

“Aye. He immediately threatened to upgrade the jet. Do you have something to drink, my friend? I am rather thirsty,” he then asked.

“Sure, go ahead. There’s beer in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” Thor strolled in the kitchen and Clint looked what was inside the bag. At first he fished out a sturdy, big tablet with a shiny _StarkTech_ written on the back. Then two books with a note stuck on them. ( _> You have to read them, I know you love Sci-fi, hope you’re well. xo, Natasha_) At the bottom of the bag was a heavy, long-sleeved uniform. It seemed to be his and it looked awesome. There was also a note attached to it. ( _Your new winter uniform. It’s going to be ass cold to where we’re going. Sokovia weather is a bitch. xoxoxoxo kissy face_ There even was an imprint of lips. And where the fuck did Tony got the lipstick from? Nevertheless, Clint smiled.)

Thor came back with four bottles of beer and sat down again.

“Open it, my friend. I think you’re going to read it the whole night. It is not pretty to read,” he said darkly.

Clint turned the computer on and swiped his hands over the surface, away from him. Many holograms were hovering around him in the room and Clint bit his lip when he recognized the man in the first file. _Baron von Strucker_ it read.

There was a lot to read.

“The base where you have been captured appears to have moved,” Thor told him, already nursing the third beer. “The rest of Hydra is gathering there and Dr. Banner has come to the conclusion that Loki’s scepter is stored there,” he continued darkly.

“We have to fly to Sokovia and retrieve the scepter so that I can bring it to Asgard safely. It is not safe here on earth.”

Clint nodded in understanding, skimming through the file. He flinched visibly when he read that Strucker had used _The Winter Soldier_ for some assassinations. God damn it, he wanted to murder this asshole.

“So when are we going?” he asked, minimizing the files for now. He would read them later.

“In three days. Tony has told me that the jet will come for you tomorrow evening.”

Clint sighed again. “That sounds like a hell of a mission.”

Thor had finished his fourth beer and stood up again, taking Mjölnir.

“It will be a glorious fight, indeed,” Thor said and then smiled. “It has been a while since I had a good fight. And I am delighted that we will come together as a team, again. I have to go now. My lovely Jane is waiting for me at the tower. We will see each other again, tomorrow night.”

Clint smiled weakly and stepped out of the house together with Thor.

“Have a good flight, buddy.”

Thor nodded, started to swing his hammer and then flew away.

Clint watched him disappear and mumbled “fuck.”

Instead of an awesome night with James, he had no James and had to read through the dossiers. And then he had to gear up and go on a real Avengers Mission. With everyone.

Who would have thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's time to watch Avengers AoU again. We're nearly there.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultron is such a douche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this fic has now more than 500 kudos. I still have trouble believing that. I love you all so much! And again a big thanks to MK for correcting my (sometimes very stupid) mistakes!

It was way past two in the morning when James returned with Lucky. Clint was sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, sipping a fresh brew of coffee from his favorite mug (keep calm and become more badass) and currently examining the hologram of the Hydra base. He looked up when Lucky gave him a tired little woof. The dog went straight to his water bowl and after he had satisfied his thirst, he trotted upstairs where he no doubt would fall asleep in ~~Clint’s~~ their bedroom.

“That was a long walk,” Clint commented and stood up. James was tense and flinched when Clint leaned forward to give him a kiss. Okay… He was still thinking about the Thor incident. Clint could live with that. He shrugged, left James alone and resumed reading about the base. It was not a complete plan: they had it because Tony only stumbled upon the location of the scepter a day ago, but it looked like a bad cliché with its fortress hidden in the mountains.

He wanted to ask James if he knew something about that particular base, but when he turned around, James was sitting on the couch, staring into nothing and frowning. Maybe it would be a bad time to bring it up. Clint was torn between taking time with the dossier and finishing it quickly, then kissing James senseless. Sadly, he had some sense of responsibility left and tried to concentrate on the dossier again.

He re-read the outlines of the map for the 50th time when a steaming mug of tea appeared before his eyes. Clint snapped out of his calculations about high trees, snow and bow stability and looked at James who was holding the cup (still frowning). Clint smiled at him and took a sip of the strong mint tea and tiredly rubbed his eyes with one hand. James was still saying nothing. He looked at the holograms of the map and the file of the scepter. Clint had no desire in hiding that from him. Why would he. James probably knew more about that than all of the Avengers combined. He hoped that James would know of the base and talk to him, maybe giving him some tips (...) but he was still receiving the silent treatment.

The birds outside slowly began chirping and greeting the new day. And Clint didn’t feel well-prepared. He hated that feeling pre-mission.

“Maybe you should go to sleep,” Clint suggested when James was finished reading the dossier and muttering darkly about Strucker. “You look tired.”

James snorted. “I could say the same about you.”

Well, finally a sentence.

“I still have to prepare. Thor kind of caught me off-guard.”

James almost pouted when Clint said Thor’s name and yeah, still the big elephant in the room.

James suddenly took the tablet out of his hands and switched it off. He took Clint’s hand and brought him upstairs. “You need your rest. Sokovia is already fucking cold at this time of the year. You’ll burn more energy than you would on other missions.”

Clint would never dream of resisting and followed James upstairs, loving the feeling of James’s warm hand in his. He never had held James’s hand. Their palms fit together perfectly. Oh man, why the hell did he sound like a lovesick teenager in his head?

He was confused when James didn’t dump him onto the bed but guided him in the bathroom. Ah, he got the message. He _had_ been sweating like a pig earlier that day. God, he smelled worse than the elephant stables he had to clean as a kid. James left him in the bathroom. Clint still felt a bit uneasy because James was so taciturn. He didn’t like that. But he was too tired now. The mission was more important now, and James was right. He did need to get a little rest, since he had no idea how long they would be there and if they even would be able to get the scepter.

Sighing, he piled his clothes on the floor and stepped into the shower. The water was borderline to scalding hot, just like he loved it, and he put his head under the water spray, shutting out any other sounds. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of nothing, especially not the mission, but the data he had read wouldn’t leave him alone.

He flinched violently when two minutes later two arms hugged him from behind and James’s whole, perfect, naked body was pressed against his back. James didn’t let Clint the chance to panic or be surprised because his lips were touching Clint’s sensitive spot right under Clint’s ear and Clint sighed. Then James _bit down_ , gripping both sides of Clint’s hips hard. Clint fucking moaned and his knees began to buckle. He was pretty sure that his knees would buckle but James held him with ease. He bit and nipped and licked just this _one fucking spot_ and Clint was embarrassingly hard in an instant. He pressed his hands and forehead against the cool tiles of the shower and then there was a strong hand on his cock and he fucking _whimpered_.

“Shit, fuck. What are you doing?” he wanted to say but he was pretty sure that something like “shifu,whayadoin’” came out instead. Of course, James didn’t answer. He just turned Clint around and Clint had trouble looking into his eyes. He was pretty sure his own face was bright red by now. (God, it was so hot. Not only the water…) Again, James didn’t give him time to think about what was happening right now and kissed him breathless. The hand didn’t leave Clint’s leaking cock and he tried to stay on his feet. It was fucking difficult. James’s metal hand had left his hip and was massaging his ass instead. He kissed so dirty, almost desperate. Clint could only take a breath for a little moment until James’s mouth attacked his again and Clint wondered if it would be too embarrassing if he came only from James’s hands and his mouth.

_His mouth._

His mouth which was suddenly not on Clint’s anymore but on his hip bone.

“Wha..?” Clint slurred, looking down at James. James’s hair was plastered on his head and covering most of his face. He kissed a line down Clint’s hip bone, leaving a trail on his thigh. Then he looked up under the wet strands of hair, smirked for a moment and …

“Fuck, shit, god damnit,” Clint cursed and couldn’t help but bury his fingers in James’ wet hair, pulling, pushing, and scraping the scalp with his fingernails.

James’s wonderful lips were stretched around his cock and when Clint pulled a little too hard at his hair, he moaned the first time. And didn’t stop.

Clint had never heard sounds that erotic before and the combination of James’s mouth, his sounds, and his hands were too much for him. A broken sound left his lips and he came. He didn’t even had the chance to warn James. The orgasm washed over him he could hear James choke from far, far away. He hit his head hard on the tiles when he threw his head back and stars were dancing in front of his closed eyes.

Clint was completely and utterly drained. When James’s mouth and hands left him, he slid down the wall. James turned the shower off and helped him up, silently chuckling. Clint didn’t care. He leaned heavily on James when he helped him out and let James towel him dry. James half carried him to the bed and Clint was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, lying on top of the covers, naked.

~+~

He was awake roughly ten hours later. His body and mind felt well-rested. It has been a long time since he had been able to sleep deeply. He stretched and let his bones pop, sighing happily. A fresh breeze was coming through the open window and he inhaled the clean air of the late fall. He blinked a few times, trying to get his brain back online.

_Blink._

_Blink._

_Blink._

Oh fuck.

That hadn’t been a dream…his whole body was still thrumming with satisfaction.

James really did have his way with him in the shower.

_In the shower._

Out of all places Clint had thought _something_ would happen between them…

Clint rolled around and buried his nose in James’s pillow. James had been sleeping here, too. It was nice to know that he hadn’t walked around the farm like a zombie during the last ten hours. With closed eyes, he inhaled the scent of James’s pillow and perked up when he could read the happy barking and James’s voice through the open window. He got up and walked to the window. He could see both of them on the hill where the Quinjet always landed and decided to join them.

But after a quick trip to the bathroom and trying to decide what to wear under his new uniform he was too late for that. Lucky and James were already in the kitchen. Of course, it smelled heavenly in the room. He decided against making a house-wife joke because he didn’t want to risk James breaking both of his arms. Lucky barked at him from his water bowl and James smiled at him softly. “Hello, sleeping beauty. Did you know that you snore like hell after you come down my throat?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Look who’s in a good mood again,” he said and tried not to appear too giddy when James kissed him, still smiling.

“I had every right for that,” James argued. “There was a fucking god on our doorstep.”

“Sure,” Clint just shrugged and gave James a shit-eating grin. He was in such a good mood and when James smiled only wider, Clint just felt happy. He sat down at the table. “What would I do without your cooking?” he asked.

“You would weigh ten pounds less, I’m sure,” James answered and Clint gasped.

“You wound me,” he whined.

James snorted and pulled something delicious out of the oven. Clint didn’t care what it was because he would eat everything that James made for him.

They ate in silence because James preferred it like that but as soon as Clint put his fork away, James stared him down.

“What?” Clint asked uncomfortably. Would James want to talk about their shower intermezzo now? Please, no. Clint wasn’t any good at _the talk._

James composed himself and then started to talk _about the Sokovian Hydra Base, of all things_.

Clint was irritated for a moment but then listened intently to what James had to say. It wasn’t much because James only had been there one time, and that was 20 years ago when Hydra had been in the middle of turning the base into the fortress.

“I’m pretty sure that there is a hidden door in the control room,” James said at last. “When you find the door, you find the scepter.” The more James had talked, the gloomier his mood had become again but Clint was really grateful that he had told him everything he knew. Now he just needed to find a way to give that information to the others without sounding suspicious. 

“Thank you, James. I appreciate that,” he said quietly and James smiled sadly. “Just come back alive,” he said.

“I will,” Clint promised.

As if on cue Clint’s phone lit up and told him that the Quinjet would be here in 30 minutes. James stood up with him and watched Clint as he put on his new uniform. Clint put on the pants and the coat which looked like leather but (knowing Tony) definitely wasn’t. It took a while to zip all the zippers and stowing small weapons away. But in the end, he managed it and especially loved the purple stripes in the front and the purple sleeves.

“Man, Tony just _knows_ style,” Clint muttered and packed the bag that Thor had brought with him yesterday evening. After he packed his two bows and put on his quiver, he felt ready. Suiting up was always calming to him, and he even would feel excitement for the forthcoming mission if it weren’t for James who was standing next to the TV, arms crossed and looking very worried. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but then just shrugged and stalked to Clint, hugging him tightly.

“You look hot in this. Try not to lose it and I’ll peel you out of it after you’re back,” he whispered into his ear and Clint choked a bit.

“You can’t say shit like that before I’m going on a mission. How will I be able to concentrate?” he asked and James chuckled darkly.

“You _will_ concentrate. You hear me?” he grabbed Clint’s arms hard and kissed him.

Clint couldn’t help but sigh into the kiss and when they broke apart, Clint stroked James’s hair back from his face. “It won’t be long. You’ll see. We get in, catch the scepter and I’ll be back tomorrow night,” he promised. James only nodded and then he and Lucky accompanied him to the hill.

Both of them gave him a good-bye kiss when the Quinjet had landed. Clint smiled at them, turned around and Hawkeye entered the jet.

~+~

When the Quinjet landed at Avengers Tower, the rest of the team was already waiting, and they boarded the Quinjet quickly. The first few hours of the flight were more or less a boring debrief with Hill and Cap, and when Clint suggested jokingly that they should search for old-school hidden doors in the rooms, everyone laughed and Tony’s eyes glinted.

(Clint couldn’t look Cap and Natasha in the eyes for the first few hours. They would have his head if they knew that he was living with the Winter Soldier ~~and that he had come down his throat a few hours ago~~.)

~+~

They started their attack at the crack of dawn and Clint had to admit that shooting arrows from a jeep that Natasha was driving was fucking awesome. He’d missed this.

After an insanely amazing combo attack from their side (Clint was sure that would have been in slow motion if they had been in a movie) they divided again and Clint decided to take out a rapidly firing bunker to cover Natasha’s back.

Very sure of himself, he fired an exploding arrow but the arrow never landed.

“Wha,” he mumbled, firing the next one with the same result.

Suddenly the breath was knocked out of him and some fucking punk with silver hair grinned at him.

“You didn’t see that coming?” the ass-clown asked and then there was a very mean pain in his side and spreading through his whole body.

 _Shit,_ he thought, lying in the cold snow and staring at the cloudy sky above him.

“Clint!” Nat shouted, and Cap said through the comm, “ _We have an enhanced in the field._ ”

Natasha appeared in his vision and cradled his face. “Clint’s been hit pretty bad, guys. We gonna need an evac,” she told the team and Clint wished he could snort. There he was. The liability of the team – again. A fucking roadrunner had hit him and the whole mission had to be aborted. What a great team member he was.

He passed out when Natasha left him to go tame the Hulk.

He woke up in Thor’s arms, flying to the Quinjet.

“Buy me a drink first, sweetheart,” he slurred and Thor smiled down at him. 

“I don’t think your mighty warrior would like that, my friend.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Clint mumbled, feeling so so tired. “I think. But thanks for not telling the others.”

“It is not in my place to do so, Clinton.”

“You’re a good guy, Thor…”

~+~

He slipped in and out of consciousness during their flight back, hating the worried faces that looked down on him. He hated that he couldn’t move, hanging on a damn IV bag.

“Barton’s gonna need the full treatment,” he heard Tony say.

Wow, they were flying Dr. Cho in? It must be pretty bad. Didn’t feel like that, though.

~+~

They were in the last stage of his treatment when Natasha came in. She smiled at him fondly.

“You sure, he’s gonna be okay?” she asked Dr. Cho. “Pretending we need this guy really brings the team together.”

Ouch, Nat. Clint put on a silly smile.

“I’m gonna live forever and ever,” he told them, after Tony had also entered the room. Looking down at his brand new skin, he chuckled, “I’m gonna be made out of plastic.”

Dr. Cho rolled her eyes and told him (again) that it was all real natural skin blah blah. “Your girlfriend won’t be able to tell the difference,” she assured him. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Clint said and sipped his smoothie, looking at her with raised eyebrows. He wondered if James _would_ be able to tell the difference. _If_ he chose to see Clint naked again. Maybe the shower thing had been one time and Clint was obsessing about it. He should stop obsessing about it.

~+~

He agreed to stay for the party. It sounded like fun and he really needed a drink.

James had been worried when Clint had told him that he had been hit, and Clint had to assure him ten times that he was as good as new.

“ _I want to see that for myself when you’re home,_ ” James had told him and Clint almost purred back.

“So you wanna see me naked again?”

“ _Always. Preferably now. But you want to party. Such a shame._ ”

Clint almost decided to fly back to the farm ASAP.

~+~

He really, really wished that he would have decided to fly back.

Because Ultron? Fucking douchebag.

Throwing the shield at Steve had been exciting though.

~+~

“ _You can’t be serious._ ”

“Yeah…It’s a long story. There’s this idiot robot that Tony created…he kind of crashed our party. And kind of broke the internet and our files and uh…I don’t know how long I’ll be here. We’re his number one priority now, apparently. All ‘not worthy’ and stuff.”

“ _You don’t believe that, do you?_ ”

“Uh…”

“ _Barton, you answer to me now and no one else. That fucking tin can is talking bullshit. You’re worth more than anything on this fucking planet and don’t you dare think otherwise. Did I make myself clear?_ ”

“I answer to you. Yes, Sir.” Clint smiled. He was interrupted by Steve.

“Barton…?” Clint ended the call with a quick “gotta go” and tried not to look to guilty. “Who was that?” Steve asked.

“Boyfriend?!” Shit, that sounded more like a question. Steve didn’t look very convinced and seemed visibly startled, but let it slide.

“C’mon, we’re going to the archive, doing research, my way,” Steve said. Clint followed him.

“Your way?” he asked irritated.

~+~

Fucking paper files.

~+~

He couldn’t call James again. Even the first time had been a risk. J.A.R.V.I.S. wasn’t here anymore and Ultron could trace his phone call just with a little bit of hacking.

Shit.

Why the hell had he called James in the first place? He was such an idiot….

God, hopefully Ultron had other marks on his list besides tiny, worthless Clint.

~+~

Wakanda was even worse than Sokovia.

There was still adrenaline thrumming through his veins from Wanda’s attempt to brainwash him, and he was feeling helpless when he tried to get Natasha out there safely. He knew that they lost that battle when he told Tony that the whole team was down. Jesus, that girl seemed to be a worse brain fucker than Loki.

~+~

Tony and he were the only ones listening to Hill. Everyone else was so shaken and quiet, clearly elsewhere with their thoughts.

“For now I’d stay in stealth mode,” Hill was saying. “I’d stay away from here.”

Clint sighed and knew that there was only one place where they could hide. The farm wasn’t in any digital records. Fury and Clint had made sure of that when Clint had joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

It was a great risk bringing his whole team to the Winter Soldier. He had no idea how Steve or Natasha would react. Steve sure did have a manic glint in his eyes when he had told him about the Winter Soldier. And after S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fall, Tony certainly had realized that his parents’ accident hadn’t been one.

But there was nowhere else to go. Everyone was after them. He couldn’t risk the life of his team just because he was afraid of their reaction to his unique boyfriend.

Boyfriend, ha. If James only knew how Clint thought of him.

James would know that he wasn’t alone as soon as the Quinjet would land. He would have two minutes to flee the scene.

Clint really hoped that James stayed. And that no one would die.

With them as walking disasters, everything was possible.

“Maybe you wanna sleep,” Clint told Tony when he made up his mind. “We still have a few hours.” He changed the coordinates of the Tower into the coordinates of the farm.

“A few hours to where?” Tony asked.

“Safehouse.”

_I hope._

~+~

Clint had never been more nervous in his life.

It was fucking terrifying when he opened the front door and entered the house, the tired and beaten team trailing after him.

“Honey, I’m home,” Clint called into the house. “I’ve got company, sorry that I didn’t call ahead. Security risk and all that.”

Lucky came barking around the corner. “Incoming!” Clint grinned at Lucky and let the dog lick his face.

Then James came out of the kitchen; having his hair in a bun, letting his metal arm glint in the light and wearing an apron. He had flour in his face. He looked like he didn’t care in the slightest that Clint had brought _some friends._ Clint was pretty sure James had at least four knives hidden under the apron.

Clint could hear a gasp behind him and the air in the room shifted. Natasha muttered something in Russian and Clint could hear her adjusting her widow’s bites. He also could hear Steve moving his shield.

And then Steve’s broken and shaky voice.

“B-Bucky?”

 _Who the hell is Bucky?_ Clint thought and looked at Steve and then followed his line of sight. Yep, he was looking at _James._

James looked sadly at Steve and Clint didn’t feel very good all of a sudden. Something was very wrong. They were looking at each other as if…

But James had told him that he had no idea who Steve was…

Steve looked so hopeful…

Finally, James shifted his body into his fighting stance. Clint saw his whole team go tense and adjusting their positions as well.

“Hiya, Stevie,” James said. “You finally found me.”

Wait, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I have Watanabe Ken in my ear when he says in Godzilla "Let them fight." *cackles
> 
> Don't forget that I love you all so much and this story wouldn't be here without you!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not Clint Barton's farm. It's the hawkward farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay but I'm still on vacation...well...but I finally found the time for uploading it. :)

And another one bites the dust.  
Oh why can I not conquer love.  
And I might have thought that we were one.  
Wanted to fight this war without weapons.  
And I wanted it I wanted it bad.  
But there were so many red flags.  
Now another one bites the dust.  
Yeah let's be clear I'll trust no one.  
You did not break me.  
[Sia – Elastic Heart´](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vaBlYm9-b20)  


**Part 4 – James**

James is kneading the dough when he hears the Quinjet. Thank fucking god. Clint is alive. When he had heard the news from Wakanda, he’d been furious with himself that he hadn’t gone with Clint. Clint sure doesn’t like to hear that, but Clint is only human and had shown and told James about his recklessness. James still hasn’t gotten over the fact that Clint had apparently swung himself from a high roof while aliens were attacking him during the battle of New York. James doesn’t like those stories very much. And they had been all he could think about the few hours before Clint had made his way to New York after the rather unsuccessful mission.

He realizes that the Quinjet doesn’t take off again. He stops kneading, and even Lucky who was napping beside him looks up with interest. James puts down the rolling pin, covers the bowl with a sheet and looks out of the kitchen window. He doesn’t have to seek for long. Clint isn’t alone. He’s got the whole fucking team with him. James had suspected that they have to lie low. But here? With him? Maybe he should go. He could just run. And never come back. And Clint won’t have to explain…

But it’s Clint.

He can’t leave him alone.

He’ll get through this shit. Sooner or later, he has to face Steve.

Oh god, _Steve_.

He guesses that he has to face the music now. Maybe they can all put their shit aside for a while and sort this Ultron mess out before they all ~~kill~~ jump at each other.

He pockets a few knives and one of the guns he had stored in the burnt down safe house. Soon, too soon, they are all at the door and James can hear Lucky greeting Clint. He leans at the kitchen counter for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. They’ll get over it. They have to. Clint wouldn’t have brought them, if it weren’t that forlorn.

He checks the weapons one last time and then goes.

The Widow is on alert immediately and Bucky tenses a bit.

_She’s mine._

No, she’s not. She is _not_ the mission. Not anymore. Never was.

The shield of the famous Captain America shifts and James looks in the devastated face of Steven Grant Rogers, the best friend you could ever wish for. The face he had seen when he fell. God, Steve had been coming for him. He had seen him fall. James doesn’t let any emotions show on his face and fights his tears down when Steve’s wrecked voice says: “B-Bucky?”

He can see that the Widow is ten seconds away from an attack and shifts his body into fighting mode. He really doesn’t want to trash his home. Maybe he can lure her outside. Steve apparently doesn’t care that one of his team members is ready to fight. He isn’t aware of that, more likely. He looks like a lost puppy. James hates that look. It makes him weak.

“Hiya, Stevie,” he eventually says. “You finally found me.”

He risks a glance at Clint who looks confused and a little bit antsy.

“You two know each other?” Clint asks, clearly not connecting the dots. How could he? James had never told him _that_ particular part about his past.

“How do _you_ know each other?” the Widow snaps and Clint looks at her sheepishly. 

“I think this isn’t the best time to explain that all. Maybe we should sleep for a while and-“ he gets interrupted by the Widow. She traps Clint between the wall and herself and Clint has his arms up to defend himself. The widow’s bites crackle but she doesn’t use them.

James is on her in an instant. He rips her away from Clint and it’s almost too easy until he has her pinned and a knife at her throat.

“Do not touch him,” he hisses. It’s immediately chaos after that. Clint is touching his shoulder, Steve is crying out his name, the Iron Man demands to know who he is. Thor is escorting the Doctor out.

The Widow tries to loosen his grip on her but he only presses harder. She wanted to harm Clint.

“Bucky, let her go. We’ll sort this mess out,” Steve says and James snorts. “Don’t call me that,” he says and disables the widow’s bites with his metal hand.

“James,” Clint’s voice shakes. “Can you please let her go?”

James lets go of her abruptly and stands in front of Clint, trying to cover him with his body. The widow is on her feet again, standing next to Steve, looking murderous.

“What have you done to Clint? Why are you _here_?” she demands to know and James cracks a cold grin at that. She thinks he forced Clint to let him live here?

“What? Are you jealous? I thought the Red Room taught you not to feel any emotions,” he says. Clint gasps behind him and Steve lets out a scandalized “Bucky!”

Yeah, that was way over the line…

“Oh my god, the fucking Winter Soldier,” Tony suddenly says, looking at his phone where F.R.I.D.A.Y. had supplied him with the information after he had scanned James’s face.  
James tenses at the name and takes out another knife.

Steve looks at him sadly and drops his shield. “We won’t fight you, Buck,” he says.

“We don’t?” Tony interrupts, earning a glare from Steve.

“No, he’s my friend,” Steve says with determination. “He’s my best friend.”

Clint goes very still behind him and James regrets not telling him everything.

Steve looks at him again. “But why are you here? Have you been here the whole time?” James shrugs and watches Tony Stark who huffs and sits down on the couch, taking one of the outdated magazines from the side table.

“I found myself stranded here. I had no idea that he was an _Avenger_ ,” he can’t help but sneer. “He was nice enough to help me since I didn’t know who I was. My memories came back only a while ago,” he tells them and the Widow relaxes at that. “I know I should have gone as soon as I remembered everything, but I couldn’t…”

Clint isn’t still saying anything and the silence stretches. Suddenly, Iron Man sighs and throws the magazine back on the table. “This is all fucked up. I would like to kick your ass, soldier, but I think we have better things to do right now. Like, you know, kicking _Ultron’s_ ass.”

Clint snorts at that. “How could I forget? That thing you _you_ created.” He puts a hand on James’s shoulder. “Relax, James,” he asks him but won’t look him in the eye. “I think you should talk with good old Cap here and I will talk to Nat, okay?”

James puts his hand on Clint’s, but Clint pulls back. “C’mon, Nat. How about a nice cup of tea?” he asks her and James stands here with Steve, a little lost. He wants to go after Clint but he vanishes in the kitchen with the Widow. Tony snorts and James sends him a death glare.

“I’ll go to Brucie bear. Tell him the situation,” Tony tells them and leaves the house. A few seconds later Thor flies away. Steve can’t stop staring at James and his hand itches as if he wants to reach for him but doesn’t trust his or James’s reaction.

“I’m not sorry, you know,” James says suddenly. “I would have never gone back to you. It’s too risky.”  
Steve looks so hurt, James internally screams. That came out wrong.

“But it isn’t risky with _Clint_?” The _how could you_? is not said but clearly heard. James frowns at that.

“That’s not the same. He didn’t know who I was. _I_ didn’t know. And when I remembered, I…” he deflates. “Maybe we should go outside,” he says. He doesn’t want others to hear.

Steve storms out and James follows him. His childhood friend has grabbed an axe and is chopping wood like pro when James reaches him. James stands next to him for a while, Steve is clearly angry. After a few minutes Steve finally says something.

“Why didn’t you come to me? I searched all over the globe for you. How long have you even been here?” he asks him, and James thinks for a moment.

“I think a few weeks after Washington, D.C. I got stranded here,” he tells him and Steve’s lips become a very thin line at that.

“Well,” James concludes. “Maybe you should have let your whole team in on your little search. I’m sure Clint would have told you on the spot. Unfortunately, you don’t seem to think of him as a valuable member. So don’t bother being angry at him. When I told him about the Winter Soldier, I asked him not to tell you. He didn’t. So blame me, alright?”

With every word, Steve only looks angrier and James sighs. “This all is a mess. Look, I’m sorry if I delayed your avenging stuff but all I’m gonna ask you is to leave Clint alone. We can talk for hours and braid each other’s hair after the whole Ultron shit is gone but I need you to focus right now. Clint wouldn’t have brought you all here if it weren’t bad. I don’t know how long this will _stay_ a safe house. I would prefer if it would stay that way. But knowing my life, it will get shitty, soon. And I’m sorry that I dragged Clint into it….” Shit, now he is rambling, he knows. But everything about his old and new life is mushing together terribly right now and a headache starts forming behind his forehead. (But knowing his body, it will only last a few minutes until it’s gone again)

“I just,” Steve starts, ripping a wood block apart with his hands. “I missed you. I… It’s _my_ fucking fault that all this happened to you. I let you fall…” Steve’s voice breaks and James suddenly has a lump in his throat.

“No, Stevie, no,” he tells him. His body acts on his own and he takes Steve into his arms. Steve buries his face in James’s neck and starts to sob. “Don’t think about it that way,” he tells Steve. “I’m just glad that it wasn’t _you_ who fell.” Steve only shakes harder and James closes his eyes, just holds him. They are a fucking disaster. All he had wanted was a little more time until he had to face Steve.

Shit happens.

He doesn’t know how long they are standing there but he looks up when he hears the front door and Clint stands in the doorway. He looks at them absurdly neutral. They stand there for a while and Clint clearly doesn’t know what to say. After a while he sighs, still not looking James in the eyes.

“I made tea,” he informs them. “And dinner.” Before James has a chance to reply, Clint makes an awkward wave with his hand and goes searching for Tony and Bruce who seem to be in the barn.

~+~

Dinner is awkward. Clint had just thrown all of their leftovers on the table, and no one is very hungry. Tony and Bruce are sitting together at one side, facing the window, and stealing glances at James. James just raises his eyebrows at him when their gazes meet. Natasha and Steve are sitting on the other side, away from the window. Natasha is glaring at him the whole time and Steve just stares at his food, eating automatically. Clint…Clint is sitting at one end of the table, James at the other end. He wonders if Clint is angry with him because he didn’t tell the truth about his life-long friendship with Steve.

When James stands up abruptly, everyone except Clint flinches and James rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to turn into the Winter Soldier. Relax.”

“ _And how do you know that?_ ” the Widow asks in Russian.

“ _I just know, okay?_ ” he answers in Russian and bites his lip. He hadn’t intended to say it in Russian. Natasha just smirks but looks away when Clint takes her wrist, slowly shaking his head. She sighs and takes a sip of her tea.

“I’m going for a walk with Lucky,” he tells them all. Lucky is at his side immediately and they leave the house. He walks for hours. They’d probably be able to make plans and relax more without him hovering over their shoulders. James comes back after midnight when everything is dark in the kitchen.

He can hear that Natasha and Steve are behind the (normally unused) guest room downstairs and quickly walks up the stairs. Their other guests appear to be in James’s assigned room, which he hadn’t used in months. So he opens the door to ~~Clint’s~~ their bedroom. Lucky scrambles inside and makes himself comfortable at his usual place in front of the bed. Clint isn’t asleep. He’s at the wall next to the bathroom, standing on his hands, and pushing up and down, only in his pajama pants. His eyes are closed while he is working out, and next to him is a dismantled bow.

Clint isn’t acknowledging him, so James passes him silently when he makes his way to the door. In the bathroom he grips the sink and stares into his reflection. He is pale and has dark circles under his eyes. There is still flour in his hair. He looks like shit. James sighs and takes his toothbrush and the toothpaste in his hands. He averts his gaze in the mirror when he brushes his teeth and decides that he needs a shower afterwards.

When he steps out of the shower later, the whole house is ghostly quiet, like the calm before the storm. The team had clearly been planning something, and seem to be trying to get some rest before they leave again. James steps out of the bathroom. Clint still isn’t sleeping. Now he’s doing sit-ups like a lunatic, sweating and panting. James wonders if Clint will ignore him the whole night and lets his towel fall to the ground and searches for a fresh pair of pajama pants, stark naked. He can hear that Clint’s sit-up rhythm is interrupted for a split second and smiles to himself while taking out fresh pajama pants. So he _is_ watching him. Good to know.

James won’t talk if Clint doesn’t want to. But he won’t sleep either until Clint is in bed, too. And by the looks of it, Clint is determined to work out as much as he can do before the sun rises again. James can play that game, too. He gets in bed (his side!) and takes out the book he’d been reading while Clint was away in Sokovia and Wakanda (He really hopes Jon Snow doesn’t die. He’s awesome).

After roughly 100 pages, Clint slumps on the floor with a groan and James looks up from his book. Clint just lies there, face pressed in the hardwood floor. He’s breathing heavily for a few minutes until he gets up and into the bathroom. James puts his book away when he hears the shower stopping. A few minutes later, Clint comes out again, slightly wet and with fresh pajama pants. He goes to his side of the bed silently, lies down, turns off his bedside lamp and turns with his back to James.

James sits there, staring at Clint’s back. Clint doesn’t move. James sighs after a while and slides down so he can lie comfortably. He lies there, staring at the ceiling which reflects the moonlight. He knows that Clint isn’t sleeping, but he does a very good job pretending.

James can’t sleep like that. He doesn’t know how long he lies there; an hour, maybe two.

Finally, he cracks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you that I know Steve,” he says into the darkness. Clint doesn’t say anything but his body twitches a bit. “I just… You would have felt even more uncomfortable around Steve if you knew _everything._. I tried to kill my best friend 70 years after he had to watch me falling to death.”

Clint turns around when he finishes and James has a hard time fighting the tears that want desperately roll down his face. “I was just…so happy. No, I _am_ so happy with you. And then I remembered everything. Who I was…what I’ve become…I was afraid you would want me to go back to Steve, to _bond_ again.”

He rolls on his side to face Clint, whose face is illuminated by the moonlight. Clint is watching him intently and doesn’t say anything at first, but then,

“He was-- I mean, he is your best friend?” Clint asks hesitantly.

“I told you that, didn’t I?” James doesn’t know what he means.

Clint bits his lips. It’s fucking distracting.

“No,” he says. “You were never…you know…”

Oh.

“Oh my god,” James exclaims. “You’re such an idiot. That’s why you won’t look me in the eye?”

Laughter bubbles up in James’ throat. Clint yelps when James jumps on him.

“You stupid, stupid idiot,” he whispers against Clint’s lips and then kisses him. Clint makes a keen sound and wraps his arms around his neck. James lets his hand wander down and breaks the kiss when Clint winces. He looks down; his hand is on Clint’s right side. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Clint reassures him. “The skin is just a bit tender. Since it is fresh skin.”

“Ah,” James says. “Your wound, let me kiss it better.”

And James uses his mouth to slide down Clint’s body.

He doesn’t come up for a long while.

~+~

They wake up roughly five hours later. After a shower together, Clint tells him that Fury had been here while James had been away with Lucky.

“His good eye looked like it was going to pop out,” Clint says with glee. “If S.H.I.E.L.D. would still exist, he would have totally busted your ass. Right after he got mine because apparently I am a little shit for hiding the farm. If you ask me, he's just jealous I could hide something like that from him.”

James snorts at that. “Yeah, he can try.”

Later, he leaves Clint in the bedroom so he can check is bows and arrows and his uniform.

He can hear the others behind the closed doors, makes himself an enormous sandwich, and leaves the house with Lucky. After a quick walk and long thinking, James enters the barn and climbs behind a huge pile of long forgotten junk. Lucky is barking happily, trying to climb after him but James tells him to stay.

He searches for a while but then he finds the big case he had brought with him after his trip to his former safe house. He opens the case and looks at the content for a long time. He does reach inside, eventually.

He swaps his shirt and his sweat pants with the black cargo pants, black undershirt and the black vest. Stowing away his knives calms his racing heart and checking the ammo for his other weapons lets his metal arm tingle in anticipation. After pocketing the SIG-sauer P220 and the Scorpion VZ 61, he puts on the leather jacket with only one sleeve. The more he puts on, the calmer he becomes. It’s great feeling actually. This. This is the territory he knows by heart.

In the end he decides to use the black war camouflage paint, too.

Taking the Barret M82M1 and his mask last, he climbs back over the pile of junk. When Lucky notices him, he starts to growl.

“Easy, buddy,” James tells him. The dog looks confused, sniffs at his gloved hand, looks up in his face again and barks. He leaves the barn with Lucky and stops in front of the kitchen door. The door is open halfway.

“Okay, so I’m going to go after the nuclear codes and our hacker has to show himself somehow.” Stark is saying.

“Right,” Steve says. “I’m taking Clint and Nat.”

James enters the kitchen and they all go quiet. Stark looks impressed, Steve shocked, the Widow confused and Clint … is all smiles, and looks happy.

“I wondered where you’ve been,” he says and Bucky huffs.

“Of course. I’m going to help you.”

“That is too much of a risk,” the Widow immediately argues.

“Oh, shut up, Nat,” Clint says and stands in front of James, turning around and facing his team.

“He wants in, he gets in. He’ll help. I vouch for him. If we get out alive and he somehow messed up, you can have my head, I don’t care.”

James’s heart stutters at those words and he desperately wants to take Clint’s hand in his. But since he doesn’t want to have another fight with the Widow, he refrains.

Steve thinks for a moment, then smiles hesitantly.

“I’m glad you want to help, Bu- _James._ ”

James shrugs and has to fight a smile himself. Natasha rolls her eyes and gets out of the house first. Stark follows her, leering at them. Steve takes his shield. “We’re going in 3 minutes. Hawkeye, tell him the plan.”

Clint nods, smiles at James but then looks at the Doc who hadn’t said anything yet. He was still shaken from the Wakanda incident.

“Dr. Banner,” Clint starts. “Could you take Lucky with you to the Tower?”

The nervous man smiles at that and coos at Lucky. Lucky bolts to him and licks his face. “Of course,” he answers and goes with Lucky to the Quinjet.

As soon as they are alone in the kitchen, Clint cradles his face, pulls him down and gives him the sweetest of kisses.

“I…,” he starts, then looks away. He sighs and James nudges him with his nose.

“What?” he asks.

“Your fucking hot in that outfit,” Clint grins at him. James has the feeling that this wasn’t what Clint had intended to say but barks a laugh nonetheless.

“C’mon, he says,” taking Clint with him. “Fill me in. What’s your great avenging plan about?”

Clint closes the door, locks it and lets James pull him toward the Quinjet.

“Fucking Korea, man. You won’t believe what the lunatic wants to do,” Clint starts and explains their plan on the way to the Jet.

James is very glad that he is going out there with Clint.

He will do everything to protect the other man.

Even if it could mean his death.

But that is a risk he’d had his whole life.

They had told him that in boot camp.

And they told him that before his first mission as the Winter Soldier (Not that he had particularly cared at that time.)

 _This is it,_ he thinks when he enters the Quinjet after stealing a small kiss from Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I didn't answer any comments but I had zero time! I read them all, though (and was smiling the whole time). Love you, guys!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be a long, long day for Clinton Francis Barton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry...a bit late but I was busy and my lovely beta was busy and I couldn't leave an unbeta'd chapter here... this one is too important for the plot, so...
> 
> enjoy :)

**Part 4.5 – Clinton**

“ _Copy that?_ ” Steve asked through the comm.

“Yup,” Clint answered, looking down on the busy streets. After a few seconds he spotted the truck.

“There,” he said. “Right above you, Cap. It’s them. I could take out the driver.” He would love to. But Cap didn’t want to take any risks and of course went after the truck by himself. Well, not himself. James was right behind him. He had insisted on going with Steve, and Clint hadn’t liked that very much. And from the tactical point of view it made perfect sense. He would have been happier if James would have stayed here with him, though But James had been thrumming with energy the whole ride to Korea and had steadily ignored Natasha’s doubtful looks. (He really needed to have a word with Natasha after this whole mess was over.)

He watched Steve getting half blown up and bit his lip. James was not far behind the truck now and...oh god, Clint needed to get his head out of his ass. James was a highly trained assassin and excellent sniper for fuck’s sake. He could take care of himself. (James had told him that with those exact words and a kiss in between.)

“You’re no match for him, Cap.”

“ _Thanks, Barton._ ”

“But I’m sure, if _someone_ would move their ass, you could distract him easily.”

“ _Copy that, assface,_ ” James piped in and there he was, jumping on the truck, too.

Clint steered the Quinjet into the direction of the rapidly disappearing truck and bit his lip when he saw that both James and Steve were getting their asses kicked by Ultron. Natasha went to the back of the jet and Clint was gladly sending her the way down. James and Steve couldn’t distract Ultron much longer.

“Got a window open for you,” he called back. “Give James a kiss from me, kay?” he grinned.

“Fuck you, Clint,” was Natasha’s unimpressed answer. Clint snorted and opened the boarding ramp of the jet, so she could badass her way down on the street on the bike Tony had improved. Clint then realized that he didn’t have a clear shot and gave her the directions to the truck.

While Natasha was beep-beeping her way through the crowds, Clint did his best to follow the truck and gripped the control stick hard. Ultron sent Steve flying into a car. Ultron gripped James by the throat and held him up, looking like he was going to crush James’s windpipe. James freed himself but got kicked from the truck and into a motorcycle and its driver.When they fell to the pavement, Bucky wrapped himself around the driver to take the blow from the street and stop sign where they crashed.

“James!” Clint cried out.

A cough and a groan.

“ _I’m fine._ ” came the answer and Clint sighed. Fucking Ultron.

Clint then proceeded to shoot the hell out of the truck.

Awww, shit. Two of those little fuckers followed the Quinjet and he tried his best to shake them off. His little maneuvers weren’t of much use but then they changed their mind and flew back to Cap, who was still fighting with Ultron.

“They are heading back towards you,” he told all of the Avengers on the streets. “So whatever you were gonna do, do it now.”

James was now on the motorcycle he had crashed and jumped straight into the _train_ where apparently Steve and Ultron were fighting. When he couldn’t see James anymore, he concentrated on the truck again and hoped that Natasha could get the shit done.

Suddenly the back of the truck was _flying_ and he positioned himself behind it.

“I have a clear shot,” he told them, getting ready to fire but he got interrupted by Natasha who was still in the fucking truck.

“What the fuck are you still doing in there?” he asked but got ignored. Instead she told him that she would send the cargo to him and wasn’t that fucking great?

James told him through the comm that Ultron was heading their way now and Clint really wanted to get out of here. “We gotta go,” he told Natasha urgently and the she came falling down with the cargo. They somehow managed to get the cargo into the Quinjet but he had cheered too soon because one of these fuckers had grabbed her and shit –

“Nat!” he shouted.

“Cap? James? Do you have eyes on Nat?” he asked, a bit panicked.

“ _If you have the package, bring it to Stark!_ ” Steve shouted.

“Have you seen Nat?” Clint repeated. Now it was James who answered.

“ _She’ll be fine, Clint. GO!_ ”

Shit. Clint cursed but got his ass out of there nevertheless.

~+~

When he touched down on the landing pad of the tower, he moved the cradle to Banner and Tony. Lucky was right on his heels, barking happily.

“What are you doing here, punk?” he asked the dog, scratching him behind the ears. Tony asked him if there was any way to contact Natasha, and Clint smiled to himself. “I’ll go find her,” he said, and took Lucky with him who trotted behind him happily.

“Go in that corner and be still, would you?” he asked the dog, after went downstairs to set up some old equipment “I need to find Nat. Maybe James can help me when he’s back. I guess he knows this old-school shit by heart.” Lucky barked in answer and trotted under a table, making himself comfortable there.

Clint had no idea how long he was sitting there, but now he heard something faint over his headset and yep, that was Morse code. Relieved that Nat was indeed alive, he wrote her words down and found the location where she was and…

Oh, come on. Not that base again. He hated that place.

He jumped when there were lips on his temple all of the sudden and a mumbled “I fucking hate trains.”

Clint stood up immediately and wrapped his arms around James. He buried his nose in James’s neck and tried to calm his racing heart. He had been scared for James out there, constantly trying to keep tabs on James. And what was it with James and trains that were constantly triying to murder him? Fuck. He had to stop that. He was a trained spy, for crying out loud. He hadn’t even been like that when he and Natasha had been an item and were on missions together.

“Hey, hey,” James mumbled. “Something’s up. Steve was furious the whole way back. And those kids were with him. I don’t know what they’re planning, but I’d be careful.”

“This fast fucker is there, too?” Clint asked and when James nodded, Clint took a gun and bolted out of the room. James followed him and when Clint looked up, he could see that little shit taking out the power. He aimed the weapon, shot through the glass floor, and two seconds later the punk was lying in front of him. Clint stepped on him and James aimed a gun at the kid’s head.

“You didn’t see that coming?” Clint smirked.

Upstairs an argument started. “Keep an eye on him, would you” he asked James, who nodded in return. Clint sprinted up the stairs and _what the fuck was going on here_?

Before he could do anything, Thor was standing in the room. He made a little party of lightning and The light was so bright, Clint had to close his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, there was a red thing in the room with them, which Thor tossed away.

Please, don’t let that be another Ultron, Clint thought, exasperated, and followed the others. He noticed James behind him, soon and they all were watching the new creature warily.

Now Thor was talking.

The gem.

Infinity stones.

_Stark was right???_

Clint took James’s hand in his. Banner was right. The world had to be ending.

Suddenly punk #2 was talking like she knew shit and Clint wondered why the twins were even here. She wanted to make herself important and Clint walked in her direction, letting James go.

“Yeah, your approval means jack shit to me,” he sneered. Who did she think she was? A fucking Avenger? She was a mind-fucker, he wanted her out of the tower. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the captain...damn. hen everyone was talking again, and okay…this _vision_ wasn’t on their side? Clint’s fingers itched for his bow. But since nobody was attacking that thing, Clint held back – barely.

And it turned out that Ultron’s location was, of course -

“Sokovia,” Clint told them. “He’s got Nat there, too. I got a message from her earlier.”

Clint couldn’t help but listen to Vision’s little speech and was utterly baffled when he(?) lifted Mjölnir effortlessly and walked away. They were all looking at each other stunned, except James, who didn’t seem to know what was going on.

“What’s it with your idiotic expressions?” he asked them all and that shook them all out of their awe.

“Three minutes,” Cap said. “Take what you need.”

Clint took James’s hand again, called for Lucky, and they all went down to Clint’s floor via th elevator. James whistled when they reached Clint’s level in the tower.

“Holy shit, Clint,” he said. “I can understand why you were so reluctant to come back to me,” he smirked, and Clint shook his head. 

“It wasn’t like that, and you know it.” James laughed and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. Clint’s heart fluttered.

Shit, he realized. He was in too deep.

“You, uh, can take some clothes and help yourself to my small armory.” While Clint was suiting up with his spare suit, James was replacing his empty ammo clips with new ones and swapped some of his weapons with Clint’s. Clint was oddly touched by that. He came back to James with an old leather jacket of his and offered it to James. James’s jacket had been torn apart in Seoul.

“Thank you,” James smiled and when Clint turned around to fill his quiver with new arrows he heard a ripping sound. “That was one of my favorites!” he complained, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry!” James said, not sounding sorry at all. When Clint was ready, James was waiting for him at the elevator with one sleeve torn from his jacket and the metal arm gleaming in the dim light.

“It looks more menacing that way,” James explained and Clint snorted.

“Sure,” he said fondly and crouched down to Lucky who was running between them nervous.

“You’re going to stay here, honey,” he told the dog, who whined in return. James was leaning down, too, kissing the top of Lucky’s head.

“Someone will come for you soon and then you’re going for a nice long walk. How about that?” he asked and hugged Lucky.

“We’ll be home soon,” James said and Clint’s heart clenched.

“C’mon, we have to go,” he mumbled and they left Lucky in the apartment.

When they boarded the jet, Steve was sitting a bit isolated and Clint nudged James in the side. Clint was piloting anyway, so James could sit with his best friend. (Steve still was, even if James wouldn’t want to admit that, yet.)

~+~

When Steve gave his little speech five minutes before they would touch down in Sokovia, Clint could see that James listened intently, and the more Steve talked, the more James smiled. Huh.

When they were the last three on the Quinjet, James held Steve back, still smiling.

“You’ve grown up, Stevie.” Steve looked taken aback. “Now, go out there, so I can follow your sorry ass into the jaws of death,” he clapped Steve on the back and Steve couldn’t resist a quick hug.

“Take care, out there,” Steve said with a rough voice, then looked at Clint who was standing behind them a bit awkwardly. “You too, Clint. I don’t want to have to deal with his whiny ass when something happens to you.”

Clint huffed a laugh and James complained with a loud “Heyi! Punk!”

“Jerk,” Steve answered and hopped out of the Quinjet, leaving James and Clint behind.

They looked at each other in a strange anticipation Clint couldn’t place. Then they moved at the same time, sharing a kiss that made Clint’s knees weak. James was holding him tight, and Clint was gripping James’s shoulders hard. When they broke the kiss, they were slightly out of breath and James ran his metal hand through Clint’s hair.

“Be safe, out there,” he smiled. “I’ll see you on the other side.” And with another quick peck on Clint’s lips, he was gone, running to the point where he had to evacuate the civilians.

Clint needed a few seconds to collect himself, but then jumped out too, triggered the locking mechanism and sprinted to his assigned rooftop pearch.

~+~

They weren’t there for very long before robots were crawling out of everywhere. They swarmed the whole city. Clint groaned because he would never have enough arrows and didn’t want to know what would happen when he finally ran out.

He was killing three robots at once(fuck yes!) when the ground under him started to rumble and _they were slowly going up._

This couldn’t be happening.

Well, apparently it could.

He didn’t have the time to dwell on that, receiving the captain’s orders to fucking slaughter those things (not exactly Cap’s words but it was pretty much the same meaning).

Clint had no idea how, but he had managed to get near James as the battle progressed and one of the robots was talking _to_ James. What the…

“…Oh, I know exactly who you are,” the robot said with Ultron’s voice. “The nice captain’s sidekick. Well you're not so nice anymore, aren’t you? Winter Soldier,” Ultron hissed and something was happening, because James froze in place as if he knew something bad was coming. Clint doubled his efforts to get through the robot horde and now was close enough to hear everything.

“You’re bothering me,” Ultron said. “And I know just the way to shut you down.”

James was white as a sheet and looked terrified. His hands were shaking and his eyes were wide.

“Sput-,” Ultron started to say, but then Clint's arrow flew through Ultron's eye socket, frying the circuitry.

“James!” he shouted but James didn’t react. There were more robots coming now, but James didn’t move an inch. Clint shoved James in behind him to try to get them out of here, and a small explosion tossed them right through a window into an adjacent building.

The explosion seemed to have James gotten out of his stupor.He was lying next to some rubble, holding his head.

“James! Hey, are you okay?” he asked him. James was shaking his head, still looking fearful.

“I can’t do this. I’m a liability. I’m a danger for you all. He knows, he knows.” he looked at Clint with wide eyes. “He knows my programming. He will turn me against you…”

No, no, no. The last thing he needed was James to break down. Not now.

“Look at me, James. Look at me,” he pleaded but James wouldn’t listen. He was shaking his head, mumbling incoherent things. Clint was now panicking, too.

“ _Bucky!_ ” he snapped and that got James’s – Bucky’s – attention. He looked up again, mouthing his nickname as if that plain nickname was digging right into his soul. Maybe it was. Who knew?

“The city is flying and we’re fighting an army of robots. And I have bow and arrow. None of this makes sense.”

A lonely robot tried to get to them and Clint got rid of him with a neat shot. He looked back at ~~James~~ Bucky and cradled his face between his hands.

“But I’m going back out there because it’s my job. And I can’t do my job _and_ worry about the love of my life.”

Bucky looked at him astonished and Clint almost lost his nerve to continue.

“It doesn’t matter what you did or what you were,” he said urgently, stroking Bucky’s cheek with his thumb. “I love you. You. James. Bucky. The Winter Soldier. I don’t care about any of this shit. I only care about you.”

There. He said it. It wasn’t that hard. Apparently, he only needed a nice shot of adrenaline and his beloved in immediate danger to spit out something like that.

“If you go out there, you fight. And you fight to kill. If you stay here, that’s fine by me. I would be happier if you were by my side but if you don’t trust yourself, you run and you’ll go to safety.”

He kissed Bucky’s dry lips and smiled. Kissing Bucky always made him smile.

“But if you step out of that door, you’re an Avenger. You’re with me, side by side and you’re part of the team.”

He kissed Bucky again, for good luck. He couldn’t dwell on that or wait for Bucky’s response, because the shit was going down outside. He stood up, still smiling.

“Alright? Good talk,” he told him.

Right before he jumped out of the building again, he had to remind himself what was happening right now.

“Yeah, the city is flying…holy fuck.” He looked at Bucky one last time and kicked the door open, jumping head first into the next fight.

He shot one exploding arrow after another at the robots and he had the feeling that they were duplicating when he blinked. He took a hard hit when he was tossed behind a car.

“Ow,” he complained. He wanted to take a nap. A long nap. Preferably with Bucky at his side.

Speaking of Bucky.

When a few robots wanted to end Clint for real, Bucky was suddenly there. Right in front of him. And took out one robot after another with fucking _knives_ and using moves that Clint definitely wanted to try in bed with him. It was a genuine pleasure to watch. The Winter Soldier was fucking badass and Clint SO had the hots for him.

There were worse things than that.

When more robots approached, they teamed up, and fighting alongside Bucky just felt so natural. It was perfect. It might have been inappropriate, but Clint was grinning the whole time.

Wanda helped them with the last robots, and Clint’s eyes darted around, searching for new robots. But it was quiet. For now. He grinned at Bucky, who grinned back, panting and told the team that their sector was clear.

“ _Not clear,_ ” Cap’s pissed off voice shouted into his ear.

Alright, alright. No reason to get your panties in a twist, Cap…

“Okay, we’re coming to you,” Clint sighed and was blasted into Bucky’s arms in the next moment.

“Try to keep up, old man!”

God, he hated that kid.

He drew his bow, aiming for Pietro.

“Nobody would know,” he mumbled. “Nobody.”

Bucky chuckled behind him. “C’mon,” he told Clint and started to run.

Clint followed him, muttering to himself.

“The last time I saw him, Ultron was sitting on him. Yeah, he will be missed. That quick little bastard. I miss him already.”

In front of him Bucky laughed breathlessly.

“Shut up, Clint!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Clint answered but was grinning himself.

~+~

Cap was right. Fury was one son of a bitch. Clint didn't believe that they'd manage to get all of the people to safety. He was helping to fill up the rescue vessels when Stark wanted them all in one place. He looked at Bucky over the crowd and got a nod in return. Together they ran back to the meeting point to protect this fucking core.

“Is that the best you can do?”

And Thor had to ask…

Clint was getting tired of that shit. He realized that there weren’t many arrows left in his quiver and tried to take a few robots down with hand to hand combat. He actually stood a chance that way with a few little tricks that Bucky had taught him at home.

Thor, Iron Man and Vision decided that it was easy to defeat Ultron, using their power beams and wow that looked amazing. Melting Ultron’s ugly head (Couldn’t they have done that like 5 hours ago?!).

The air was definitely getting thinner and he took Bucky and Natasha with him so they could drive to safety. He jumped into the first car he could find. Bucky sat in the front passenger seat and Natasha in the back of the neat Audi. Amused that Bucky and Nat were eying each other warily, Clint started the car which came to life with a satisfying purring sound.

Clint maneuvered them through the fights and debris, feeling like a stupid action movie star. 

“So,” he shouted. “We’re definitely going on vacation when this shit is over.”

Bucky turned to him questioningly.

“I was thinking of Guam. You remember Martha? I’m sure she’s got a guest bedroom for us.”

Bucky smiled a small, sweet smile and shrugged.

“Fine by me,” he answered.

“I may vomit,” Natasha said from the backseat and Clint barked a laugh.

“You’re just jealous, sweetheart,” he told her and he could see in the rearview mirror that she was rolling her eyes.

When he stopped in front of the Helicarrier, they could all hear the Hulk roaring and smashing robots, and he turned around to face Natasha.

“We don’t have much time,” he said.

“Just get your ass on the boat,” she smirked at him and dashed off to calm down the Hulk.

Clint and Bucky helped the last ones on the Helicarrier when a mother was screaming for her child.

Shit.

“I got this,” Clint said to Bucky. “You help the rest on board, my arms are fucking tired,” he said and ran in the direction of the boy.

He ignored the “Clint, wait!” from Bucky, and helped the boy up when he reached him. He heard footsteps and Bucky was only a few feet away from him when suddenly Ultron was there again and shot his way through more robots than he had expected. Man, he could SEE the safety vehicle, but it still seemed so far away.

 _Fuck_ , Clint thought.

_This is it._

He turned his back to the jet to at least protect the boy and closed his eyes.

“CLINT!” he imagined someone scream and then there was a ghostly silence.

When Clint opened his eyes again, both Bucky and Pietro were lying on the ground, both splattered with blood. Bucky was draped half over Pietro who was breathing shallow, pressing his hands on his stomach. Bucky’s metal arm was shot to pieces, he was bleeding out of his left side, and there were three bullet holes in his left leg.

Bucky was panting, rolling off of Pietro

“He’s been hit. You…have to get him to the Helicarrier,” Bucky wheezed.

“I got him,” Cap was behind them, panting a bit because he had used his superhuman speed ability to get here fast. He nodded at them, then took Pietro into his arms and ran off. Clint scooped the boy up and looked at Bucky worryingly. Bucky could only stand with difficulty. His left leg wouldn’t hold his weight and he stumbled, leaning at the thrown-over car.

“Go,” he told Clint. “I’m right behind you, it just might take a little longer….”

Clint didn’t want to. “No, I’m helping you,” he said but Bucky shook his head vehemently.

“You need to get this kid to safety.”

Clint looked down at the boy in his hands.

“Bucky…James,” he murmured.

Bucky sank onto his knees, his useless metal arm crackling and sparking. He took a gun from his holster and aimed it at Clint.

“I swear to you, Barton. I will shoot you in your stupid face if you don’t go _now._ ”

Clint screamed inside. He could _not_ let this kid die here. Fuck.

“I’m not going to Guam without you,” he finally managed to say.

Bucky laughed and smiled beautifully.

“I love you, too. Now go.”

Clint bit his lip and started to run to the rescue vessel. On his way he realized that he too, was wounded and losing blood. When he finally reached his transport, he gave the boy to his mother and had to sit down. Everything was dizzy and he just knew that he would lose consciousness in a few seconds.

“I’m fine,” he told a paramedic and sank down on the seats.

It was just a long day. The rescue vessel lurched and flew upwards.

Clint could see Cap.

He couldn’t see Bucky.

That didn’t have to mean anything.

Iron Man could take him with him, or Thor, or…

Clint was unconscious by the time the large chunk of Sokovia exploded into millions of pieces.

~+~

When he woke up again, he was staring in the face of Dr. Cho.

No James.

~+~

When he went to pick up Lucky from the tower, no one of the team would meet his eyes. They were behaving as if someone died.

That was ridiculous.

James was _not_ dead.

He was just taking a little longer to come home. That’s what he had said. So shut up, Nat, he was _not_ in denial.

James would come back to him.

He had to.

~+~

He didn’t return to the farm alone.

But not with James.

~+~

He slept horribly that first night on the farm.

James was _not_ dead, he thought to himself when he was crying and screaming into the pillow that wasn’t his.

~+~

When he woke up the next morning, he just felt empty. He went through his morning routine, alone, made the bed, alone, and went for a walk with Lucky, alone.

When he came back to the house with Lucky, he dragged himself up the stairs and stood a while in front of ~~James’s~~ the guest room.

Get a grip, he thought.James was _not_ dead.

He opened the door

“Alright, alright, alright. Get up, kiddo. It’s time to teach you some manners!” he said in his cheeriest voice and took the blanket away from the no longer sleeping figure in the bed.

“Do I have to?” Pietro groaned and stuck his head under the pillow.

“Don’t give me that whiny shit. Your sister is long up and jogging through the woods. Your grace period is over!” He went to the bathroom, filled a glass with water, came back and dumped the water over Pietro’s head.

Pietro cursed and sputtered, glaring at Clint.

“Rise and shine, Maximoff.” Clint grinned. “Lunch in five.”

He left the bedroom again, closing the door. There he stood for a minute, staring into the empty hallway. Pietro was cursing and stumbling through the room behind the closed door and he could hear Wanda talking to Lucky downstairs.

 _If you go out there, you fight._ he remembered his own little speech.

“Okay, enough,” Clint said to himself and made his way downstairs, already going through different training exercises in his head.

Everything was going to be alright. It had to.

Oh god…

~~James was dead.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh...pietro lives! so yay?!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get killed, walk it off.

You get killed,  
walk it off.  
\- Rogers, Steven G.

**Part 5 – James**

 

Dying is really painful.

Bucky knows he is dying. His whole left side is shredded and he can feel that his healing factor isn’t going to work as fast as necessary. He doesn’t have the time to sit down and wait for his body to heal. He still has the comm in and knows that Thor, Stark and Vision will blow up this huge chunk of Sokovia in less than a minute.

He’s leaning at the turned-over car and closes his eyes. Hopefully Clint is safe by now.

Oh, Clint.

It’s happening again. He was on the brink of having something nice, and then…a fucking war happens. And again he will fall down. Down and down and down. Just like 70 years ago. He hopes that he doesn’t wake up with another metal arm in some communist country.

But he’s so high in the air right now. He will never survive the impact on the water. Maybe not even the explosion. What a sad way to go. For real this time.

At least he had the chance to say goodbye to Clint. Hell, he told him that he loved him. He’s never told that to anybody before. He hopes that Clint won’t miss him too much. Missing Bucky isn’t worth it. He could see it in Steve. Missing Bucky is a bad idea.

Through the comms he can hear, that everybody is safe and sound and Vision, Thor and Iron Man are starting to do their thing.

It’s happening.

Bucky takes out his comm and flips it to the ground.

The part of Sokovia, he’s sitting on, starts to shake and he rolls away when he feels the overthrown car moving. One second later the car is standing firm on the ground again and because Bucky has an edge of hysteria for a moment and hauls himself into the front seat of the nice car and leans back in the seat.

This is how he goes. In a Porsche cabriolet on top of a flying city.

There are worse ways to go.

There’s a ghostly silence and he can only hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Then the world splits apart.

_This is how I die._

Clint’s smile is the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes against the blinding light.

~+~

Bucky regains his consciousness when a cape is hitting his face.

A Cape.

Hitting his face.

What?

He blinks a few times and when he feels wind ruffle through his hair, he looks around him. He’s flying. The cape is attached to the new…member. When he looks up, blue eyes look down at him curiously. Bucky’s whole body hurts like hell and he’s pretty sure that he’s bleeding out. But at least he isn’t torn into pieces because of the explosion.

“How the hell did you manage to get me out of there?” He has to cough and when he pulls the hand away from his mouth he can see blood.

He’s still dying then.

“Iron Man had noticed a heat signature. I left Iron Man and Thor before the core exploded so I could get to you. . After I helped them in the beginning, they had enough power to finish it alone. I could locate and extract you in time.”

Vision lands in a beautiful forest and Bucky has a strange sense of déjà vu because the forest looks so much like home. Like the forest around the farm.

Vision positions Bucky against a large tree.

“Thanks for the rescue, I guess,” Bucky says. “Not that it was any help because I’m still dying, so…”

“I will come back for you,” Vision promises. “I just have to find someone else first.”

Bucky nods and watches Vision leave. Then he sighs and coughs again. This is all useless. His head is pounding. He must have hit it during the explosion. He’s got approximately 20 minutes left. Who knows if Vision will be back here by then?

Bucky decides to spend the last moments of life with a little internal celebration.

He’s _Bucky_. Not James. He’s always hated that name. During the battle, Steve had called him Bucky and it had felt so right. James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Yeah. He still is the Winter Soldier. There’s no going around that. Maybe it is better that he’s going to die. Because he remembers _everything_. Everything since 1917 (more or less).

Bucky closes his eyes and chooses not to think about the things that came after 1943. Maybe everything since 2014. That is way better.

He’s thinking about Clint. About the farm. About his green house. About Lucky.

He should be thankful. He really should.

At least he won’t be frozen again. He will die, for real. Nobody is going to wake him up again. Nobody will demand any more assassinations again. He will finally rest in peace.

He deserves that. After being in this world for a century.

The grass under his right hand feels nice. It’s so green. Bucky likes the color green. He wants to paint the barn green. He should have told that Clint. The barn would look so much nicer if it was green.

Yes.

He bets that Clint doesn’t like green. Purple is more his color.

Bucky opens his eyes again and looks at his left side. The blood is still pooling out of him but there isn’t much left. He tries to move his left arm but there isn’t much left of it, too. It feels strange. He doesn’t know how Hydra did it but the arm had felt like a real one.

He’s tired. So very tired.

Maybe he should take a nap while waiting for Vision.

Sounds nice.

~+~

He’s drifting in and out of consciousness.

There are voices around him but he can’t understand what they say.

He feels so very numb.

And cold.

Why is it so cold?

So many voices. All familiar but one voice he can’t hear.

It’s an important voice.

Why can’t he hear it?

~+~

__

_“He’s lost so much blood, Cap. I don’t know if he can make it. Even with a transfusion. His whole left side is damaged. I mean, just look at his organs.”_

_“What if, what if I give him blood? We have the same blood type. His…his Hydra serum is too weak, what if my serum…the serum in my blood, couldn’t it just boost up his healing process a bit? And then the traces of my serum will be gone. Wouldn’t it?”_

_“Huh. I didn’t think about that. I don’t know if it works. But we can try. We could keep it in mind as our last resort.”_

_“Thanks, Bruce.”_

~+~

_  
“Look, Cap. He’s going to need a new arm. It looks like he’s going to survive this. I sure as hell can’t repair it. But I can try to make a new one. I don’t know if it’s going to be as good as the Hydra thing because…fucking hell that technology is still ahead of everyone.”_

_“Wow, how much did it hurt to admit that, Stark?”_

_“Shut up, Natasha.”_

_“Enough. Both of you. Tony, I guess you’ll have to do it. But I swear to god if you’re going to put anything in that arm that doesn’t belong there…like a tracker or something worse, I’m going to kill you. Please, just make him an arm he’s comfortable with.”_

_“Woah, easy there, Cap. You can make Brucie-Bear watch over my shoulder. But I promise, I won’t do anything else. I’ll try to make it as similar as possible. I can include you in every step.”_

_“Thanks. I appreciate that, Tony. But I want Natasha to watch your every step. She knows more about that stuff.”_

_“Suck it up, Stark.”_

~+~  
 __

_“You think it’s going to work?”_

_“I have no idea. Cap seems so sure about that.”_

_“Don’t you think we should let Clint know that…well, that Robocop here isn’t dead….yet?”_

_“No! Stark, I swear to god if you’re going to tell him that he lives and James is going to die, I will kill you. I will not have Clint more of a mess than he already is.”_

_“I don’t like it. You’re his best friend. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”_

_“Stark, the team decided that we would wait until James is stable again. You were there.”_

_“Yeah, well. Doesn’t sound like a team decision to me, if one member of the team isn’t present.”_

~+~

He dreams of bows and farms and snowy mountains.

He hears voices but can’t decipher them.

He only knows that _someone_ is missing.

~+~

_”I think it’s working. Your serum helps a lot, Steve.”_

_“How long will he be out?”_

_“I have no idea. Days or weeks? He doesn’t have the perfect replica of your serum.”_

_“…dear god, I hope it will work. Thank you so much, Bruce.”_

__

~+~

He wakes from an unpleasant itching on his left shoulder. It takes him a few tries until he manages to open his eyes. The lights are bright and he has to blink a few times.

Shit, he feels like death warmed over.

“Buck?” someone calls out hesitantly.

Bucky slowly moves his head to the left and can see Steve sitting there, a notebook in hand and looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. Maybe he hasn’t.

“Stevie, what are you doing here? Did we win the war? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the Commandos?”

Steve face falls and Bucky snorts.

“Just messin’ with ya,” he says, groaning. His left side is still feeling unpleasant but better than before. What with the whole dying part. “Shit, why the hell do I survive everything? It fucking _hurts_ every time,” he can’t help but complain and Steve is at his side in an instant and is helping him sit up.

“Easy there, Buck,” Steve tells him. Bucky wants to say that he can fuck off, _he_ wasn’t the one bleeding out, but a coughing fit prevents him from doing so.

“Ow,” he says and thanks Steve for the offered glass of water.

He leans back into the cushions, sipping his water. It takes him a while but he realizes that he’s holding the glass of water with a fully functional left arm. Huh.

Bucky stares at it.

After trying out different movements with it, he turns to Steve again.

“Stark?” he asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah. How does it feel?”

“Strange.”

“…Right.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve seems a bit off. He looks like he feels guilty about something.

“How long have I been out?” Bucky asks, still flexing his left hand. The connection point between his shoulder and the metal arm is still itching and it’s driving him nuts.

“Almost eight weeks,” Steve says. “I – We thought you wouldn’t make it. We always thought you were on the road to recovery and then something happened and you were on the brink of dying again. In the end, it was my blood that finally helped you.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Bucky replies. “But please don’t expect me to take over the shield anytime soon.”

Steve chuckles at that.

“I hate to break it to you, pal but that was all your body that was healing himself. My serum just – ah – gave the finishing touches.”

“I’m still Hydra then,” Bucky scoffs.

“ _You_ never were. _The Winter Soldier_ was.”

“I _am_ the Winter Soldier. He’s a part of me. How can you _not_ get that, Stevie?” He doesn’t want to talk about that particular topic so he changes it to – wait a minute.

“Where is Clint?”

Shit. Clint isn’t here. Why isn’t he here? But Bucky _saw_ him go. He _made_ him go. His heart beat speeds up to an uncomfortable rhythm and Steve lays his hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t panic. He’s fine. Do you hear me? He’s fine.” Steve assures him and Bucky calms down a bit.

“But where is he?” Well, it’s not as if he had expected to ever see him again. They had exchanged some pretty important words before…well. Why isn’t he here?

Not that it matters…

Okay, it matters…

A lot.

“Steve?” he asks because Steve looks away and won’t answer his question.

“Please don’t kill me, Buck,” Steve says after Bucky stares him down.

“ _What?”_ Bucky asks and Steve sighs.

“We…we, the team…we thought it would be the best…you know, Clint is pretty unstable…he…ah…we didn’t tell him that you’ve been found.”

Bucky freezes.

“It was the most logical solution!” Steve rushes on. “We didn’t know whether you would survive or not. It did look pretty bad most of the time and he…he doesn’t cope well with… _loss_. And we thought..”

“ _You thought?_ When did you get so stupid, you asshole? Clint is sitting at _our_ farm the whole fucking time and thinks I’m _dead_? What the hell have you been thinking?”

Clint thinks he is _dead_. His Clint…at the farm…without him. He doesn’t want to think about it.

“He isn’t alone,” Steve says quietly.

“Well, thank you. At least you have thought of that,” Bucky snaps and wants to go but it’s embarrassing how easily Steve can hold him back.

“Take it easy, please. You’ll have to stay here for at least another few days until you’re back to normal.”

Bucky is furious. What’s wrong with him? When he…when he was the Winter Soldier…he probably would have laughed it off (well, he didn’t laugh but that wasn’t the point). He never had nearly died as the Winter Soldier, though. because he’d been _better. Emotionless._.

_Feelings_ have broken his neck…

“So, should I call Clint…? Or…?” Steve hesitates.

“No, don’t you dare!” Bucky grumbles. “I don’t want him to see me like…this. When did you say, I’ll be back to _normal_ again?”

“A couple of days,” Steve replies.

“Well, call him when a ‘couple of days’ are over. Or I’m going back to the farm. Where am I anyway?” he asks, looking around in his room that doesn’t look very much like a hospital room.

“New Avengers facility,” Steve says promptly, probably relieved with the change of topic.

“New? What, the old team is breaking up? I wonder why,” Bucky says sarcastically. He had witnessed how they all do their own thing. They split up in groups but never work _together_. Except when the world is on fire, apparently.

“Well, we’ve gained a few new members,” Steve says, breezing past Bucky’s criticism. “Clint is actually at home to get the twins in shape. Especially the boy seems to be quite taken with him.”

“The fast one?” Bucky asks. “Yeah, that one has a massive crush on Clint, I can tell.”

“Jealous?”

“Of course not,” Bucky says. “It’s not like we’re together anyway, he can do what he wants.”

Steve gives him his usual ‘Really? You’re shitting me, right?’ stare and Bucky shrugs, fumbling with the blanket.

“He loves you, Buck. He really does. And you love him. I don’t know what he did, but I think I can never repay him that he helped you after…D.C.”

Ah…not that again. Bucky is so not ready for _that_ talk. He’s uncomfortable and can only mumble a ‘shut up, punk.’

Steve chuckles. “Maybe you should sleep, Buck. Sleep makes you stronger. Remember how you have been telling me that when we were kids and you were at my bedside?”

“Hmhm,” Bucky agrees. He does remember. He remembers _everything_.

“That talk is not over, Stevie. I’m going to chew out your _team_ for not telling Clint.”

“You’re part of that team now, Buck. Now sleep. You sure that I shouldn’t call Clint?”

“No! He shouldn’t see me that weak….ever again,” Bucky decides. Steve gives him another one of these unimpressed looks.

“Sure thing, jerk,” he says and leaves the room.

Bucky sinks back into the pillows and closes his eyes, but sleep won’t come.

He feels terrible.

Clint is probably sitting on the roof of the barn right now and thinking about being alone again.

Shit, Clint had sometimes looked so lost and alone in that stupid huge house.

Maybe he should call him.

His eye lids get heavy and he yawns.

Later.

_Part of the team._

Yeah, sure. As if. Bucky has no illusions about how his life will continue.

The people will want to know who that particular guy is. They will probably recognize him immediately. From the D.C. showdown.

He wonders if Clint would visit him if he’s going to be thrown in a high security prison.

~+~

His arm feels so weird.

Not bad.

Just weird.

He doesn’t know what it is. The arm does the same things like the previous one. It’s just—

“It is a bit lighter,” Tony doesn’t look up from his phone. He had entered the room one hour earlier and hasn’t left since. “Your old arm was a tad too heavy for perfect balance so I adjusted that.”

“That so? Thanks, I guess.”

Tony cracks a smile and looks up from his phone. “Don’t mention it. I, uh, was glad that I had a distraction. I was fucking furious when they wanted to shut Clint out. I was the only one who was against keeping Clint out. I’m so going to enjoy it when Clint realizes what’s been going on. You want to have some popcorn when shit hits the fan?”

Bucky snorts.

“Nah,” he says. “I have the feeling that I will be in the middle of that.”

“Are you sure, you don’t want to tell him? You can call him over my phone. I can set up a secure connection—“

“Thanks, Stark, but no. Thanks.”

Bucky doesn’t want to look weak and like death warmed over when he sees Clint again.

Call him vain, but Bucky won’t let Clint see him like that.

Never.

“Alright. Well, I think I gotta go. Cap wanted to talk to me about something. I think the government hates us even more, now. They don’t like us independent.” He gives a sloppy salute.

“Stark, wait—“ Bucky says when Tony is half out of the door already.

He turns around and looks at him questioningly.

“I..,” he shouldn’t do this. But. At least he can apologize to _one_ individual. 

“I’m sorry, I killed your parents.” Wow, that sounds awful.

Tony tenses but then slumps down.

“We’re going to need a few drinks for that conversation, Barnes,” he says. “But I can assure you that I’m not holding it against you. I read your file, all of it. What they did to you was fucking horrible and I really don’t want to be in your future therapist.”

“Ha, ha,” Bucky rolled his eyes but nodded. They would talk about this later. Hopefully never.

“See you around, Barnes.”

~+~

Thank god, he can walk normally again. It’s still a bit too slow for his taste but he can move and walk without doubling over or sinking onto the next chair.

Dr. Banner tells him that his serum is working perfectly again and one more night of good sleep and he will be just fine.

“Whatever ‘fine’ means,” Bucky mumbles.

Dr. Banner hums and nods, absorbed in Bucky’s medical file, checking everything again.

Natalia enters the room and Bucky tenses. She doesn’t even bother to look at him, talks to Dr. Banner instead.

“Steve wants to start the group training for the new Avengers tomorrow. Do you still want to leave?” she asks him.

Dr. Banner looks up from the file and nods. “Yes, you know I only came back because Steve wanted me to help. Now, that Mr. Barnes is alive and well, I’m leaving.”

Huh? Banner wants to leave?

He _did_ look bad after Wakanda, now that Bucky thinks about it.

They both leave the room and Bucky is left alone with his thoughts.

He misses Clint. He wants to hear his voice, touch him, kiss him….

But if he had called him, Clint would have come here and he would have seen him like this…so weak and vulnerable…

He should ask Steve if Clint comes in tomorrow, too. Is he still an Avenger? Is he an old Avenger? This concept with the ‘new’ is confusing for him. Steve still wants him as a permanent Avenger.

_Avenger._

Not _Howling Commando._

He doesn’t know where the Winter Solider stands. Maybe somewhere in-between.

He stares out of the window and is lost in his thoughts until he sees something in the sky which is coming nearer rapidly. Oh. He knows what it is.

The Quinjet lands a few seconds later.

The first ones who step out of jet are the twins. They are talking, laughing and Bucky hates that...how did Clint call it? _Swag_. That boy is an arrogant prat. (But worth saving. Why the hell had this stupid little shit run for Clint? Bucky will never understand that)

Steve had been right sending him to Clint.

Speaking of Clint.

He only sees him from the distance and it’s already like a punch in the gut.

He has _missed_ him.

Bucky’s heart is beating so fast. Shit. He’s never felt like this before. That freaking ‘I love you’ hadn’t even been motivated by adrenaline and ‘I’m going to die’ vibes. He knows that he should have told Clint earlier…

Maybe he should say it again. Right now.

Probably a good idea.

Clint has his arms around Pietro and Wanda, walking between them and is laughing about something.

Yes, Bucky should definitely go there.

He leaves his room and walks (he wants to run, but his body is still saying no) through the maze of floors and doors until he’s in the entrance hall of the facility. He’s entering the hall and everyone is there. The team is standing around Clint.

“What’s the matter? I know I should have come tomorrow but the twins,” Clint looks at Pietro with a raised eyebrow. “They were so giddy and driving me insane. So I came tonight. Is there a problem? You have quarters for them, don’t you? I’m just the chauffeur and—“

Clint stops talking and stares.

Bucky stops walking and stares, too. His heart is hammering against his rib cage. He now has a closer look at Clint and his heart aches when he sees how bad he looks. There are dark shadows under his red-rimmed eyes and he looks thinner than two months ago.

There’s a tension building and Bucky wants to say something. Anything.

Clint looks taken aback, then his cheeks turn red and he looks furious.

_Oh shit,_ Bucky thinks.

“Oh shit,” Clint says.

And Clint turns around to look at Steve, who has the guiltiest look on his face.

“I fucking knew it!” Clint yells and _punches Captain America in the face._

Steve actually staggers back because he hadn’t expected to be punched by Clint of all people. Clint throws his fists and kicks but Steve dodges Clint’s attacks (not as easy as he might want to, Bucky notices with glee).

Clint realizes that the first blow was the only one that could have hurt and promptly turns to Natalia. “You were in on that, too?” he hisses. Natalia looks unimpressed but her body moves subtly and Bucky sees that she is preparing for a punch, too.

“It was for the best, we didn’t know if he would survive. It was…you were already a mess, Clint,” she tells him in a neutral voice.

“It was a team decision,” Tony says sarcastically and takes a few steps back, in case Clint wanted to punch him, too. “Just fyi, I was against it,” he adds.

“Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I quit this fucking team,” Clint yells again.

Bucky has the feeling that he should say something, because he woke up days ago and didn’t want Clint to be contacted…

But before he can say anything, Clint is in front of him. He stares at him. Bucky stares back. Then Clint puts his hands on Bucky’s face. He strokes over his cheeks, rubs over Bucky’s nose with his thumb, touches his lower lip.

Clint steps back again, takes in a shaky breath.

“Can you please show me your room?” he asks with a cracking voice and Bucky nods. He looks at the team, daring them to say or do something and pulls Clint with him. Clint is grabbing the wrist of his metal arm hard and stumbles behind him, staring down on the floor.

They don’t talk and Bucky doesn’t really know what to say. So he waits until they are in his room.

As soon as Bucky closes the door, Clint tackles him. Bucky yelps and crashes against the door. One second later a fist connects with the door, right next to Bucky’s ear and there are silent tears running down Clint’s face.

He looks devastated.

“Clint…,” Bucky starts. But Clint interrupts him with a sob and buries his head in Bucky’s neck. He doesn’t say anything, just cries. And cries, and cries, and cries.

And Bucky holds him. He holds him like his life depends on it and his heart breaks with every gut-wrenching sob that escapes Clint’s throat. Bucky slowly slides down the door with Clint and leans against it.

Clint cries loud and with his whole body shaking. Where Clint is loud, Bucky is silent. He stares into the room, not seeing anything as the room gets dimmer and dimmer. It is dinner time by now, Bucky muses.

Clint does stop crying eventually, but he doesn’t move. Bucky can feel him blink and sniffle against his skin.

“I wouldn’t believe that you were dead. You’re the Winter Soldier, for fuck’s sake. You’re fucking immortal,” Clint says after some time and Bucky huffs a weak laugh.

“And they…they fucking sent me those kiddos and…I didn’t have the time to think, I…I was isolated on that fucking farm. ‘We’re preparing a new team,’ they said. ‘Don’t bother come to the facility.’ God, how could I’ve been so stupid?”

He finally looks up. Bucky can see his face despite the darkness in the room.

He looks awful. Tearstained, puffy eyes and slightly swollen lips.

He’s the most beautiful being that Bucky has ever laid eyes on.

“You look like you’ve been awake for a few days,” Clint comments.

Bucky ducks his head. “Yeah.”

“Please tell me that there is a good reason why you haven’t called me as soon as you were awake.”

“Uh…” Bucky says.

“Oh my god, I hate you so much,” Clint groans.

“No, you don’t,” Bucky replies.

“No, I don’t,” Clint agrees and _finally_ kisses him.

They miss their lips; more or less kissing each other’s corners of the mouth.

It’s _perfect_.

Bucky chuckles and guides Clint’s head into a position that isn’t awkward anymore. That kiss is even better and Clint’s hands roam over his body, trying to touch everything. It is like Clint wants to make sure, that he’s definitely Bucky and alive.

“Oh god, James,” Clint sighs after a while, his hands having long disappeared under Bucky’s shirt.

“Yeah,” is the only thing to say that Bucky can think of. “Yeah,” he repeats. 

His own hands are fumbling with Clint’s pants frantically and they don’t even manage it to the bed. Or take off their clothes completely.

They come apart under each other’s hands right then and there, on the floor in front of the door. Just with touching and kissing.

Bucky has never felt more alive.

~+~

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

~+~

“Did you mean it?” Bucky asks hours later when they are in his small bed, eating the food, Pietro had brought them from the cafeteria.

“Mean what?” Clint asks, mouth full of fries.

“Quitting the Avengers.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something looming. Clint doesn't know if he can stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still alive. Yes, RL is a bitch. And yes it took so long because the Civil War trailer broke me and i deleted everything I had, then wrote something and then went back to my original idea.

**Part 5.5 – Clinton**

“Is that all you can do?” Clint asked the panting team. “If I hear a complaint one more time, you’re all doing another set. I dare you.”

He walked between Rhodey, Sam, Wanda, Pietro, and Bucky doing push-ups. Okay, with Pietro he didn’t know if the kid did push-ups or not because the spot where Pietro should be on the floor was just a blurry image of blue and grey. Oh well.

“I don’t get it,” Clint’s _boyfriend_ gritted his teeth through the 312th push-up. “Rhodes, Sam and I… we all had military training. We already did this shit. And why the _hell_ are you our instructor? I don’t even wanna be on the team.”

“Stop whining, babe. Why are you even complaining? You’ve not even sweating, yet. You and Steve are both cheaters with your fancy serum and all.” Clint said. Bucky rolled his eyes at him, mumbling something about _’it’s a matter of principle.’_

“Steve is a cinnamon roll, he doesn’t know how to bring you to your limits. _I_ can. So I volunteered to supervise your training today. Come on, another 50. _Now._ ”

The military party of the team groaned in unison, Vision floated above them, clearly bewildered about what they were doing. Wanda didn’t say a word, just stared at the floor and continued doing her push-ups smoothly. She was incredibly strong and Clint was proud of her. During their time at the farm, she had never complained and seemed to enjoy every bit of training that Clint had provided for them.

“I’ve done 2000. Can I do something else?” Pietro perked up suddenly, and Clint nodded.

“Sure, go ahead. How about you do some running errands? You know, Tony is in Manhattan right now, he wanted some documents from Cap. Could you deliver them as fast as you can? And come back here?”

It was hard to keep Pietro occupied. The kid was always brimming with energy and Clint’s pile of wood back at home was huge now (The wood would probably last him for the next three winters). Pietro had stocked half of the barn with the chopped wood, since chopping wood was a fun way for him to work out. (He said so. Clint still thought he was crazy.)

Pietro puffed his chest, grinned and was on the way to Steve’s room in the blink of an eye (Not before winking at Clint. Bucky’s face when he witnessed that was hilarious.).

Clint ogled the ass of his boyfriend for a while and showed mercy with them after five minutes.

“Alright. That’s enough for the arms. Let’s work on your legs instead.”

And Clint sent them on their way around the facility. (“10 rounds, minimum!”)

He looked at his StarkPad, and started to play a bit Angry Avengers. He could kiss Tony for inventing this app (Aside from sex, it was the best distraction ever.). That asshole was even richer now because of course the whole planet was playing the stupid game.

He got interrupted by a heavenly smelling cup of coffee; Natasha was holding the cup out for him.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” Clint moaned happily after he took the first sip.

“Are you finished with torturing the newbies?” she asked and Clint snorted, imagining Rhodey’s and Bucky’s reaction when called ‘newbie.’

“Nah. I sent them on their way around the facility for a few rounds. And when they are all exhausted as fuck, I’m going to do a bit target practice with them. You know… _train them for the worst_.”

Natasha snorted,

“We have our own training with Cap in an hour, you should be finished by then.”

Clint groaned.

“We are _the_ Avengers. I don’t need some further ass kicking from Steve-o.”

“You tell him that.”

~+~

“What are you doing here?” Clint asked.

“I’m here for the training?!” Bucky answered and stole a kiss from Clint’s lips and didn’t _that_ make Clint giddy and happy.

“But I just put you and the others through training.”

“Oh please. I just went through with _that_ training because I wanted to be near you. Steve wants to train me personally. Apparently he gets a kick out of it. You know. Payback for all this shit I gave him in the 40’s.”

Bucky gave him a lopsided smile and Clint had his difficulties (if for a moment) to see James – his James. Bucky (or James) was in a weird state right now. He had admitted that to Clint a few days ago (lying in the way too small bed and cuddling and dear god, Clint loved it so much). He was trying to find the balance between 40’s Bucky, the Winter Soldier and the James that had emerged on Clint’s (their) farm. But since he’d been close to Steve during the last few days and Steve’s face always lit up when Bucky would say something out of an original memory, James seemed to try to be the 40’s Bucky more.

Clint just…

It was still his James, sure, but he was so confused sometimes, when he was in the same room as Steve and ~~Bucky~~ -James.

But Clint just tried to roll with it and if Bucky (or James) was happy, he would be happy too.

Wow, that almost sounded like being a responsible adult.

Clint stole another kiss from him before Steve and Tony entered the room, apparently in a deep discussion. Huh. Clint didn’t know that Tony would come upstate. He hoped he hadn’t sent Pietro to Manhattan for nothing.

Steve was frowning and Tony was talking a bit frantically (more than usual).

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Tony,” Steve said slowly, looking up and realizing that the old team (what was left of them) was here for the training he had scheduled.

“No, Cap. But you don’t _listen_ ,” Tony said urgently and Steve got that stubborn streak of his jaw and shook his head.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” he said. “I’d like to train my _team_ now. You know, the one you quit?”

Tony closed his mouth with a loud snap and looked like he’d been punched by the hero of their nation. He turned around abruptly and left the room again.

“Wow, what was that about?” Clint asked. “Trouble in paradise? Do you miss each other too much?”

Bucky stomped on his foot unsubtly, but the damage was done. Steve’s face hardened even more. But Clint was having none of his shit. He still hadn’t forgiven Cap that he didn’t tell Clint about Bucky’s very alive status.

Steve decided to ignore him and told them he wanted to do a bit of team exercises.

That didn’t sound like fun at all.

It wasn’t.

Because Clint didn’t get paired with Bucky.

Bullshit.

~+~

There was something like a lounge in the New Avengers Facility. Not very surprising, considering it was Tony who signed the checks. Bucky and Steve were trying to outrun themselves around the facility and Clint developed the sudden urge to drink something when he caught them running and laughing like kids.

It was a bit unexpected when he found Tony at the bar.

“Why are you still here? Aren’t you supposed to enjoy your retirement?” Clint asked, sliding onto the barstool next to Tony, asking for one of the ‘girly’ cocktails on the list.

“I wish,” Tony mumbled, downing the rest of his Scotch in one go and asking for another.

“What’s with the secrecy nowadays?” Clint asked. “Why did you retire so fast? I thought _I_ would be the one to quit the Avengers, not you.”

Tony grinned, but it looked more like a grimace.

“We both know that you’ve stayed on the team because of Barnes, not because you feel appreciated by that team. And let’s be honest. You’ve been in a loop since SHIELD fell to pieces. You miss having a regular check and having to answer _someone_.”

Clint stared at him for a moment, utterly speechless. But he recovered relatively fast, thanks to the pink drink the barkeeper (no doubt a former SHIELD agent, too. He’d tensed when Tony had said ‘SHIELD’) slid over the bar in his direction.

“Thanks, man,” Clint said and took a big sip of his sugary drink.

“Working for the government isn’t that bad,” Clint finally said. “If they are on the right side, that is. It’s all good with all of the superheroes suddenly popping up, but I guess it will end in fucking chaos. If SHIELD only weren’t eaten alive by Hydra. To be honest, I miss the good old days when I was just Agent Barton. It was easier. I don’t remember what monthly payment feels like. And nobody did attempt to brainwash me every now and then…”

Tony raised his eyebrow at him and looked like he hadn’t expected Clint to say all of these things.

“Have I told you that I really like you sometimes, Barton?” he suddenly said. “Let me buy you your next drink!”

“I thought they were for free for Avengers!” Clint whined. Tony chuckled and put a 100 dollar bill on the table.

“Keep the alcohol flowing, Jackson,” Tony said.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

Tony turned to Clint again.

“You know. There’s this really great idea floating around. Steve doesn’t like it a bit,” he started. “You want hear about that? It also kind of is about your boyfriend’s status.”

Clint’s stomach lurched.

“Hit me,” he said.

Tony clinked glasses with him and dove into an explanation.

~+~

Four hours later, Clint stumbled into his room (more or less drunk) and placed a very thick paper file into his desk. He wasn’t looking forward to reading all of this tomorrow, but he wanted to read everything again. Sure, Tony had tried to explain the whole thing, but Clint wanted to read it himself.

He was just closing the drawer when the door opened and Bucky stumbled in. He was breathing hard and sweat was glistening on his skin. He looked gorgeous – and happy. And Steve was the reason for that. Ugh…

Not the time for jealousy, Barton.

“You look like you had kinky, steamy sex,” Clint said with a small grin and Bucky snorted.

“You’re the one who has to know about that, right?” he replied and kissed the tip of Clint’s nose with wet lips.

“Did you run the whole time?” Clint asked, looking at his watch. “Did you run to the farm and back?”

Bucky chuckled again and shook his head.

“Nah, we just explored the surrounding forest and stuff. I like the forest around our farm way better.”

 _Our_ farm.

That little word shouldn’t make Clint so happy, but it did.

“So you ran around like five year olds,” Clint commented and tried to avoid that sweaty body that tried to pull him into a headlock.

“Well, we couldn’t do this when we _were_ five, so…”

“And when was that? 1789?”

Bucky threw the towel, he had just pulled out of the closet, at him. Clint ducked and it sailed past him, right out of the open window. Clint cackled and Bucky just rolled his eyes and vanished into the bathroom, telling Clint that he would drain his towel now.

“Do what you must,” Clint chuckled and looked at the drawer where he had put the paper file.

Bucky was singing something under the shower that sounded suspiciously like ‘ _You gotta fight, for your right, to paaaaaartey_.’

He just fell in love a bit more (all Steve had done was frown when Clint tried to introduce him to the wonder that were the Beastie Boys).

Clint eyed the drawer one more time, but then shrugged and decided to join his James under the shower. His mood was so good, Clint wanted to make it even better.

~+~

Three days later, Clint left the New Avengers Facility to fly to Tony.

He had read the idea of the Registration Act and had the suspicion that Nat had read it, too. So it was no surprise, when she boarded the Quinjet while he was preparing for the flight.

“So that’s the reason why Steve is so pissed off, as soon as he doesn’t have to smile for James?” Clint asked Nat when they were in the air.

Natasha hummed, watching the Facility become smaller and smaller.

“He hates it,” she said. “He’s afraid it’s going to be like Hydra all over again.”

“But it’s technically the UN playing the boss. Shouldn’t the foundation of the UN be one of his wet dreams? At least they would give James a fair trial…” Clint sighed. This alone was a mess. Since Sokovia, the upper bosses knew about Bucky: who he was and what he did. Tony was one of the guys, next to Steve and Fury, who were constantly defending him in front of the WSC. Clint didn’t have any idea until a few days ago.

It didn’t sit well with him. Especially the thought that Steve hadn’t told Bucky yet.

And he had asked Clint not to tell Bucky anything, until they had at least _something_ to defend the other man. Clint hadn’t reacted at all. He just left Steve standing there, turned around and made his way to the Quinjet. He needed to talk to Tony – and afterwards he was going to let his boyfriend in on everything he knew.

~+~

Clint didn’t like that at all.

His James was sitting on the bed – their bed – at _their_ farm, knees pressed to his chest and his arms curled around them. He looked lost, confused and resigned.

Clint didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. He was sitting on the floor, next to the bed, Lucky’s head in his lap and the thick paper file about the UN’s ideas. He looked out of the window; the sun was tinting the pine trees in a beautiful orange. It was time for dinner, soon. He could hear the siblings putter around in the kitchen.

“But why didn’t he tell me?” Bucky sighed after a while.

“He has this strange belief that he can protect people by not telling them shit,” Clint supplied and got a light swat on his head for that.

“He only means good,” Bucky said and Clint shrugged.

“You need to know what’s happening, so I told you,” he said, looking up, craning his neck back, so he was seeing Bucky upside down. Bucky smiled down softly at him and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Hmhm, thanks for telling me.”

They were silent again for a while. Downstairs there was a crash audible and Wanda scolding her brother in loud Sokovian. Lucky lifted one ear and huffed, but soon slumbered again.

“So you’re with Tony on this?” Bucky asked and Clint sighed.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “The whole thing's a mess, but…I…it’s more my style answering to someone. Even after this Hydra crap.”

Bucky flinched when Clint said ‘Hydra’, but didn’t comment on it.

There was a soft knock on their door and Wanda told them that dinner was ready.

“Serious talk later then,” Bucky said and jumped off the bed, following Wanda out.

Clint and Lucky were the last ones in the kitchen. Lucky gave a happy bark and trotted to his food bowl.

Pietro patted on the chair next to him, looking like Lucky. Clint managed to hide his snort and sat down next to Pietro, who immediately started to fill his plate with delicious looking foreign food. Clint met Bucky’s gaze over the table. Bucky rolled his eyes fondly and waited for Pietro to actually give the bowls around.

Clint moaned around his first bite. He had no idea what he was eating, but it tasted great. It reminded him a bit of the food Natasha made for him every now and then. But still different.

“Guy, this is amazing,” he declared. Pietro beamed at him, and Wanda smiled softly.

“It is a recipe, our mother made us during our childhood. It’s the only one we could remember.”

“Well, your mom was an awesome cook,” Clint said and now Wanda definitely smirked.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said smugly and Clint just waved his hand.

“James’ food is still the best,” he said.

“Yeah, the dad is cooking better than the mom,” Pietro said with a full mouth and Clint wondered when they had become so domestic. Sure, he had trained these cheeky little shits and they had helped him over his depression/grief (Steve, you fucking asshole) but this was Bucky’s first night here again. _With_ the twins.

(Clint didn’t even think about it when Bucky and he wanted to go back to the farm for a few days, and had invited the twins over. Well, he was in the process of asking, but then realized that Pietro and Wanda already stood before him with their packed bags.

And James. His wonderful James just shrugged and led the way.

And it felt nice that the house was full of life now.

This big farm just had too many rooms for only two people and a dog.)

When he was done eating his second fill, Clint watched the twins, and by extension Bucky, thoughtfully. The talk with Tony had been very serious.

Something would happen soon. And it was time to decide what they would do. What they all would do.

He looked at James, who was trying to speak Sokovian. Apparently it was a weird mixture of Russian and Sokovian; Wanda laughed full heartedly and Pietro snickered and it was a great view. Clint really loved them. All of them.

Fuck.

He had a family once.

And he had loved them.

And then it went all to hell.

Sure, he had been a small kid back then….but this felt exactly like it.

His phone ringed and when he saw that Tony was calling him, his heart made an unpleasant jump.

“I have to take this,” he told them and took the phone out to the barn where he could call in peace.

_”Shit’s gonna hit the fan in a few. You better get your asses back to the facility. And take **him** with you. Gotta go.”_

Tony ended the call.

Clint stared at his phone in disbelief. And then he realized.

Something was happening.

Something bad was coming. This was a warning. Clint had the suspicion that Tony wasn’t even supposed to call. Shit.

He stormed back to the kitchen where the others were laughing and smiling and they looked so comfortable and it broke Clint’s heart.

“Quinjet. _Now.”_

Clint was proud that he trained the twins so well. They jumped out of their chairs and were standing alert in an instant. Bucky tensed on his chair and looked at Clint. There was a silent question in his eyes and Clint nodded. He could see how Bucky shut down and the Winter Soldier emerged. It was scary but Clint wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Go, go, go,” Clint said and got a message from F.R.I.D.A.Y.

_Boss says ETA one minute_

ETA?

Shit.

They really were coming. Here. On his sacred farm. How did they know? How?

He was the last to leave the house and then realized.

 _Lucky_.

Fuck.

No time, no time.

He stared at Bucky who stared back. Bucky had to go. Right fucking now.

“Pietro,” Clint barked.

Pietro turned around and nodded. He knew what to do.

“What-“ Bucky started, but Pietro already had his hands on Wanda’s and Bucky’s necks to stabilize them and made off in the direction of the Quinjet. Clint knew that Bucky would be furious, but he wouldn’t leave Lucky here and as long as Bucky was gone, they couldn’t do shit with Clint.

Clint went back to the house and found Lucky under their bed. He was whining and seemed to know what was coming.

“Come here, buddy,” Clint cooed. He could hear the sound of the Quinjet taking off through the open window and prayed that didn’t have to use her powers to convince Bucky to fly back to the facility with them.

Lucky barked and sniffed at Clint’s outstretched hand.

“James is safe, I promise,” Clint told the dog. “I just need you to get out of here and we can go after him.”

Lucky licked his fingers but then started to growl suddenly. One second later Clint could hear the front door being ripped from the hinge. He jumped to the side where his convertible bow was leaning against his nightstand and as soon as a few soldiers were in his bedroom, he was perched on the bed, three arrows drawn. Lucky was standing next to him, snarling at the intruders.

It was ghostly silent in the room. Neither the soldiers nor Clint made a move. But they did step to the side when a man appeared behind them and let him in.

“Put your weapon down, Hawkeye. We’re not here for you.”

Clint let his bow stay right where it was.

“General Ross,” he acknowledged the man. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your message about visiting me on my good old farm. How did you find out about that, by the way?”

The general just gave an unamused smile.

“I think I’m guessing right, that he isn’t here anymore?”

“Who?” Clint asked, trying his angelic face, his mother always hated because she always knew he was in trouble when he came home with a facial expression like that.

General Ross ordered the soldiers to put the weapons down and search the compound.

“The Registration Act is going to be reality after midnight, Mr. Barton.”

Clint lowered his bow at that. Four hours and Bucky would be a wanted man. If he chose to stay with Steve.

“It is time that you _superheroes_ ,” General Ross grimaced at that word, as if it physically hurt him to say it. “Take responsibilities for your actions. Do you have any idea what a mess you left after Sokovia?”

“Me?” Clint asked. “I just tried to save lives, Sir. I believe it was a lunatic robot who’s responsible for Sokovia.”

“You’re going to regret that smartassery, soon.”

“Why? I’m fully on your side, General. Didn’t you know that?”

General Ross looked perplexed for a moment, but then turned around abruptly.

“You’re not going anywhere, Barton. When we’re done with searching the compound you’re going to come with us to the Avengers Facility. My men will be there, soon.”

With that he left and Clint sighed.

Well, shit.

He looked at his phone and didn’t have any messages. That was never a good sign. He refrained from texting his James, or Nat, or Steve.

Half an hour later he left his farm quietly. Lucky was sulking because of the leash and didn’t like flying at all. Clint found it very satisfying that Ross and his men didn’t have any tech that was similar to the Quinjet. They left in four helicopters and it took ages until they reached the New Avengers Facility.

Five people were their welcoming committee.

Tony, Rhodey, Natasha, Vision and Pietro.

Clint’s heart sank when he couldn’t see his James, or Steve, or Sam…or Wanda. He knew before General Ross barked at Tony.

“They’re not here, General,” Tony said with a pleasant smile.

“Do you know where they went?”

Nobody said a word.

General Ross laughed humorlessly and looked at his watch.

“I’d advise that you ask your friends to come back in the next two hours or they will be marked as traitors at midnight.”

Clint tensed but the others looked very relaxed. Even Pietro. Yeah, Clint trained him well.

Ross just smirked again.

“I’ll see you at the conference room at midnight. Good evening,” and he stalked through the facility’s entrance.

Clint knew that he couldn’t talk to his team mates. Ross’s men were everywhere and watching them not very subtly.

They all looked at each other with visible tension and Clint finally shrugged.

“Gotta show Lucky our…I mean, my room.”

He pulled at the leash softly and Lucky trotted after him sullenly.

Clint entered his room after a few minute and had the childish hope that Bucky would be in their room, but it was empty. Disappointed, Clint sighed and unleashed Lucky, who jumped on the bed and curled himself into a big fluffy ball on Bucky’s side of the bed.

Clint stood there for a minute, staring into nothing and feeling a headache bloom behind his right temple.

He couldn’t believe that they all had dinner together two hours ago.

What would have happened if Clint would have gotten Lucky on time? What if he had boarded the Quinjet, too? Whatever Steve had told Bucky, wherever they were, Clint was pretty sure he would be with them.

“Shit,” Clint groaned and rubbed his temples. He couldn’t leave. Not anymore. He had no idea what would happen after midnight, but the dynamics would shift.

What was the right side?

There was no right side.

He knew that they would probably listen in but he pulled out his phone anyway.

He pressed his thumb on James’s name and flinched violently when James’s phone piped up, sitting on the desk innocently and singing ‘She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah’ over and over again.

Clint let the Beatles sing and walked over to the desk where indeed Bucky’s phone was. He left it here.

‘ _ **My Everything** calling_ ’ Bucky’s phone said on the screen and Clint didn’t choke on a sob.

He didn’t.

~+~

“I’m not even super-powered,” Clint complained five minutes after midnight, staring at the blank space where his signature should be.

“You are part of a team that uses super powers,” Ross said and handed him a pen. “You sign here and it’s done. We can monitor your ‘superheroing’ actions from now on and everyone will feel safer. If you don’t sign, you’ve gone officially rogue. And let me tell you, Mr. Barton. You can’t help your boyfriend when you’re in prison.”

Clint gritted his teeth and took the pen. Ross was right. Clint was now stuck here. And James and the others were on the run. Clint couldn’t help them when Ross imprisoned him right then and there.

This was all bullshit. Why would he be redeemed with all this Loki shit as soon as he signed this and Bucky wouldn’t. Well. Maybe he would have gotten a fair trial. Clint knew a guy in Hell’s Kitchen who would have defended him. But now they would never know because that asshole had followed his best friend. He wondered if Bucky would be tired of this shit someday.

Clint scrawled his signature over ‘Clinton Francis Barton – Hawkeye’ and gave the contract back to Ross. He was the last to sign. Ross looked like Christmas came early.

“Well, this is a good start. I’m looking forward for our cooperation together. I will leave some men here, but the Facility is yours again. Mr. Stark will be our liaison, right Mr. Stark?”

Tony smiled, but it was his ‘dealing with something worse than grey hair’ smile.

Ross nodded and left the room.

Fucking finally.

As soon as they were alone in the room and F.R.I.D.A.Y. made sure that the room wasn’t bugged, Clint asked,

“Where are they?”

It was Nat who answered.

“We don’t know,” she said in a tired tone, looking at her fingers. It wasn’t like her to not look him in the eyes. She must be exhausted.

He turned to Pietro, who looked at him awkwardly.

“Wanda had to put James to sleep. Don’t worry, she gave him good dreams,” he assured Clint. “Otherwise he would not have come with us in the Quinjet. And you taught us to take him with us as fast as possible if we come in such a situation. So we did. And when we landed here, Mr. Stark was already waiting with the Captain.”

Clint put his face into his hands. What a mess.

“And what happened then?” he asked, muffled through his hands.

“Well, Barnes was furious,” Tony said. “He wanted to fly right back to you and he looked like he was going to go all Winter Soldier on us. I have no idea how Steve-o managed to calm him down but he did and they went to your room. When they came back, their bags were packed and Mr. Spangles announced that he wouldn’t sign this, and I quote ‘piece of bull’ and they would go after Barnes, whether we sign it or not. I tried to tell them, that I would personally try for him to get a fair trial and—“

But Clint interrupted him,

“What fuckery is this? He did the same shit like I did! He didn’t know what he did! He was fucking brainwashed. How come that I am pardoned with that fucking signature and he wouldn’t be???”

Okay, he didn’t mean to yell, but…

“I think he’s seen too much shit. I think there’s more than only Hydra that messed with him,” Clint mumbled, rubbing his temples. “It just doesn’t make sense. _Someone_ has a few skeletons in their closet. They don’t want him _free_.”

It hurt to say it out loud but he thought about this for days. And James did probably too. That’s why he ran. He knew that he wouldn’t be free. Redeemed. Whatever.

At least, Steve was with him, and Sam, and Wanda. Oh god, Wanda.

It was silent after Clint’s words he looked at his remaining teammates.

Tony was the first one to speak again.

“I know we signed this,” he said. “I still think it’s a good idea on paper. We discussed all this. But now we have a slight advantage. We are on the _right side_ as they say. As long as Captain Sassy doesn’t make any dumb moves we can work with that.”

More silence.

Clint shook his head and stood up.

“I have to take Lucky for a walk.”

He left the room without another word. In his room, Lucky jumped around him and licked his face when Clint knelt down and buried his face in his fur. He stayed like this for a while, just relished the warmth of Lucky’s fur and tried to think of nothing.

~+~

His walk with Lucky took more than an hour. Clint didn’t want to go back to his room in the facility. He wanted to pack his own bag and run after Bucky. He wanted to stand with his bow in front of him and shoot everyone who dared to take him away.

But he didn’t know where his James was.

Apparently he made a rushed exit with the rest of the team.

He couldn’t even leave a note. Maybe even he didn’t know where they were going.

Clint’s knees suddenly gave out and he let himself fall backwards into the cold grass. Lucky sniffed at him but then laid down beside him, put his head on Clint’s thighs. Clint crossed his arms behind his head and stared up in the sky, counted the stars.

Sirius shone especially bright today.

_I’ll find you. And then we’ll run away together. Fuck this. Fuck them. Let’s go to Guam until everyone calms down._

These thoughts crossed his mind again and again while staring at Sirius.

~+~

A few states further, across the Canadian border, another man was lying on the roof of a safe house.

 _Come find me,_ the man thought. _We’ll run away together._.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may not believe it but this was the plan all along. Also the end is coming soon, I just need a few more chapters than I thought. Also. **I love happy ends**. Just a reminder. Please refrain from the anon hate, it's childish.

**Author's Note:**

>  my [tumblr](http://minzimpression.tumblr.com)


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